Divergence
by JustDawdling
Summary: One divergence between "what was" and "what is" can inspire big changes. Follow Harry Potter through a very different childhood and to Hogwarts itself where he will change the world, for better or worse.
1. Prologue 1: Seven Years Old

Chapter 1

**Prologue 1: Seven Years Old**

**September 1987**

Harry Potter was an unusual boy. Even so for those unaware of his rather tumultuous first years, which are quite thoroughly and incorrectly documented in various texts. At just seven years old, he tumbled through life as a walking contradiction. Just look at him!

He was gangly, with wiry little stick-like limbs that dangled to and fro when he moved. His face was gaunt, his cheeks pale, and his waist dangerously small. He was a tiny little thing, for his age. This was not reflected in the clothes he wore. Shirts that hung off him as if he was an oversized, malformed coat hanger, riddled with the stains of a previous wearer. Pants so large—needing such a tight belt—that he looked as if he were simply wearing a large section of canvas. Thick-rimmed glasses that looked as if they might snap at any moment hung idly from his ears, fighting to remain on his emaciated face. These were the accommodations made for the little boy, Harry Potter. He would look terribly comical if he weren't so pitiful. This was, after all, the reality of his daily life.

Of course, there are many strange children in the world. Many strange adults, too, some of whom Harry Potter would meet someday. So why talk about this one for any appreciable amount of time? You see, Harry Potter is a wizard. Wands, robes, spells, the whole package! He can perform supernatural feats of creation, alteration, and destruction all at the flick of a wrist simply by exercising his force of will. Well, that might be a bit premature. He can't do any of those things right now. He's only seven years old! You can't go demanding such things of small children. All those lofty expectations might go to his poor seven year old brain and turn him all crazy and sociopathic. Presumably, one would not want such a thing for any person.

No, as of right now, Harry Potter is simply an unusual boy.

The odd clothing is what most people see. The contradictions deepen the closer you look, though none had deemed it quite necessary to look at young Mr. Potter too well. After all, it's not as if he were a wizard or anything. Harry Potter was just an odd little boy who went to primary school like most little boys in Britain. Rather, these contradictions were rooted in perception and reality, and the differences between them. The general consensus among those who taught him at this perfectly normal British educational facility was that he was a scoundrel, a ruffian. Here was a boy who simply could not stay out of trouble. In fact, these educators kept a certain piece of yellowed folded card stock that contained documents and writings and all sorts of other bits and scraps detailing just how much trouble the boy managed to get himself in. As it happens, his cousin also managed to have such a dossier as well. It detailed how this particularly oversized boy was a kind—if dense—child who was forced to deal with his cousin's poor behavior.

Curiously, these reports are much like the accounts of Harry's first years: quite thoroughly and incorrectly documented.

You see, the portly boy was born from the womb of one of his two guardians, whereas the small wiry boy was not. This fact was apparently quite influential on those guardians. Emerging from one person's womb or another is considered very important to many people for reasons difficult to explain and even more difficult to counteract. Interestingly enough, the young Mr. Potter's later attempts to extract himself from a world that revolved around whose womb one came out of landed him right in the middle of another which valued such things in equally high regard.

How unfortunate!

There's nothing so remarkable about one uterus or another. They all look much the same as far as their inhabitants are concerned. And yet little Harry Potter is _little_ Harry Potter for that exact reason, just as big Dudley Dursley is _big _Dudley Dursley. You know, because of different uteruses. It's no wonder everyone raised in such a world doesn't go absolutely barmy!

So, because of uteruses and whatnot, Mr. Potter (as he is designated in his yellowed folded card stock full of papers) is referred to as brash, disruptive, obnoxious, aggressive, and all sorts of other words that belong in a psychiatrist's office or a dictionary. This is the work of one Vernon Dursley, who believes very strongly in the power of proper womb origination. Every so often, when he is called upon to voice his concerns about the schooling of his children (a noble idea to be sure!), he ensures that those dictionary words are used often. He spins quite fascinating tales of tiny Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Menaced. The educators believe him, of course. After all, Harry had been adopted voluntarily after his parents, who were related to the guardian with the womb, had been killed in a tragic car accident. What on earth would it serve huffy, puffy Mr. Dursley to slander Harry's name after doing him such a kind favor and taking him in?

Clearly they underestimated Vernon's belief in the importance of uteruses.

So Harry Potter's image was already made before he even had a chance to make one for himself. This too would become a recurring theme in his life, to his eternal chagrin. When teachers saw bruises on his body, their big mammal brains produced convincing images of Harry Potter chasing and harassing other students with a water pistol or sand or some other nonsense and getting popped one good in return. The idea that his cousin and his band of hooligans stamped, sealed, and delivered each welt with a personal touch was not widely believed. Dudley was such a well-behaved boy! And when Harry walked in always looking more haggard than the previous day, their big mammal brains conjured visions of an impudent boy who refused to eat his vegetables like his parents told him to. He was, after all, an unruly child. The source of this information was of no great concern, nor was his reliance on the power of the womb to make life decisions. The problem with big mammal brains is that they tend to draw easy conclusions to make room for more important things, like daydreaming about a young secretary or remembering that funny joke your brother told you last week. Those big mammal brains don't like to consider that easy conclusions need any examination.

Yes, all of this was recorded in those papers in the great big yellowed folded card stock, marked **D. Dursley** and **H. Potter** respectively. Someone would be reading these papers in their entirety very soon. This person would make that folded card stock and the documents within important. Very incredibly important indeed, but to only two people. One of them is the reader of the documents and the other is our young, scarred hero. Well, the bolt on the face is the obvious one, but as the following events occur, another scar would be added on his left ring finger as he makes a mistake cutting the sausage for the Dursleys' breakfast. There would be many more scars to come. Maybe that wouldn't be so if less people were so concerned about wombs.

Who can say! Who indeed!

* * *

A little girl played outside her house, dancing in sunbeams and the cool streams of a water sprinkler without care for her summer dress. Her short brunette hair fluttered and her brown eyes gleamed as she continued to bounce and hop and squeal, as children often do. Like little Harry Potter, she was seven years old. Unlike little Harry Potter, she was rather unremarkable in appearance, neither pretty nor ugly. Her one outstanding feature was that her face showed constant contentedness, as if her world was always in order, whether it was or not. Curiously, this girl also had the potential to use what the big-brained mammals call magic, but that fact would not be relevant to the event that was about to occur. She stopped her fervent summertime activities when she saw other children enjoying themselves across the street with a large ball made of rubber and polyurethane. She carefully checked the street for oncoming traffic and then leapt across in bounding strides.

The children across the way called for Megan to play with them. The girl was shy, but her family had just moved here and she wanted to make new friends. She spoke bravely and replied with the following:

"Yes, thanks! But I have to ask my parents first, they'll worry so much if I don't let them know where I am."

She turned to sprint towards her house, excited to make new friends. Her mommy had told her to do so, after all! This time, in her haste, she forgot to check the street. What a fatal mistake that can be! She vaulted into the road and came face to face with a 1983 Volkswagen Rabbit.

**Divergence.**

She screamed. The car came to a sudden, violent stop. The driver's neck snapped backward against the seat and several muscles cried out in pain. When the driver jerked his head forward to see what had happened, he saw a little girl curled in front of his car, bawling. She was untouched. The driver, a male, was on an important business trip, and for a brief moment saw nothing but the fact that this girl had delayed him. He yelled at her.

"Watch where you're going, you little shit! Go home and sit inside if you're too stupid not to jump in front of cars!"

The girl had looked at him with fearful eyes and ran to her house sobbing before he'd finished the first sentence. With that, the man sped away. The whole incident lasted less than two seconds. He would think back on it a few minutes later and decide he'd overreacted. He was a bit sorry that he'd frightened the poor girl. That's okay though. After this he'll only be mentioned once more anyway. He is, after all, a person of little importance, just an accountant at a small firm in London. The girl is of some significance, but the divergence was not for her, as she would have lived anyhow. As the man drove further into town, he was involved in another traffic incident, with a young woman. This was Martha Croxley.

* * *

Martha Croxley hated cars. Something about them turned her hand-eye coordination to mush and addled her brain like a good night's drink. Those big metal wheeled things weaving around other big metal wheeled things made her skin crawl for no discernable reason. She shuddered every time she entered one of the blasted things, but she had to use them. At least, that's what she said to herself. Martha Croxley most certainly could have used a bicycle to travel between her house and her job, but was not of the mind to ride an hour over and an hour back each day under her own power. Like most big-brained mammals, she liked other things to do work so that she did not have to do it. It was a way of life.

She was not a very clever woman, but honest—some might say blunt—and intelligent. She had gone to university for several years before becoming a teacher just this year. Her eyes were a husky, dark brown that made her look as if she could stare down even heads of state, but her cheeks were warm and inviting and her chin was that of a working class woman, stiff and bowed. Her airy red hair ran down past her shoulder blades in little waves with frizz and tangles marring it the whole way down. Her physical form was mundane, stolid but not overweight. But that's enough of that.

As she maneuvered her metal construct toward her destination, her big mammal brain began to waver in its processing abilities again, as it tended to do behind the wheel of a car. She didn't even see the light glowing red as the blood that just now began flowing from Harry Potter's tiny little ring finger as the knife dug into both it and the sausage. She continued on, but so did the man in the 1984 Volkswagen Beetle. Problematically, their courses were perpendicular. The man was also distracted at the time, assuming no one would run a red light, and did not notice what was happening. He looked up and noticed.

Collision course.

He slammed on his brakes and yelled. His car jerked to a halt and missed her car by just a couple of seconds. Of course, she had no idea she was ever in danger. She continued along the road oblivious of what could have been a quick demise. He swore at her disappearing vehicle in loud tones before puttering away himself. He muttered something rather misogynistic about women and their behavior about automobiles on his way and how ridiculous this was. Fortunately, he won't ever be coming back. Who ever wanted to read a story about a small-time salary worker? This is about an unusual seven year old boy! He will be back soon, assuredly. But for now, Martha Croxley was pulling into a certain primary school where a certain little boy would be attending. When she walked into the teacher's lounge, she made a point to engage the teacher of the six year olds—now her sevens-she would be inheriting, a pug-faced but decent lady, and find out what to expect of the little buggers.

"Oh, they're a bunch of dears. Mostly bright, all eager to learn. The one you have to watch out for is the Potter boy. A real troublemaker, that one. He's hard as anything to catch in the act, but we get all kinds of stories about what he does back home to his cousin. Be careful with that one, he's a terror." Ms. Croxley nodded a bit dumbly at that. It had, after all, come flowing out of her mouth in what had seemed like just a couple of seconds. The sound reminded her of a yipping dog. Yip yip yip yip. The lady kept at it. "We keep full records of all the students here. I put them in your classroom in case you wanted to look them over before tomorrow. Just don't forget to put them back when you're done!"

Yip yip yip yip.

Before Ms. Croxley could even think to ask where she was supposed to return the folders, the woman had jumped to her feet and walked out of the room and to a door marked "Stairs". Her big mammal brain was telling her to run up the stairs to the roof and throw herself off. You see, her brain was old and tired from being around so long, so it quit. It told her to do all sorts of crazy things, like snort the pencil shavings. She'd almost done that one, but stopped herself at the last second, wondering how she'd gotten so crazy. The same thing happened this time as she got to the roof, fortunately for her. She just stared of the edge and wondered why on earth she'd come up in the first place. How odd! Fortunately, she won't be around anymore, so you won't have to deal with that crazy big brained teacher.

Shrugging, Ms. Croxley walked to her new classroom and sat down at the desk. She pored through the stack of files and finally plucked out the folder marked **H. Potter**. It was by far the thickest of the bunch. She flipped open the cover and began skimming through the section marked **Behavior**.

'Numerous reports of misconduct at home. Just as many at school. Gets into fights and shows up to class bruised on a regular basis. Particularly nasty behavior toward his cousin. Which one is the cousin?' She reached again for the stack and found a normal sized folder marked **D. Dursley**. Its contents were rather mundane. 'Poor grades, but only a few behavioral problems, mostly related to defending himself from the cousin.' She switched back to the Potter file. '**Personal Information** section… adopted by Dursley family after he was orphaned.' That one word snapped her to attention.

Orphaned.

'He's an orphan.'

She sighed, in both exasperation and pity. It's hard to be sympathetic to a kid who's got such a mean streak.

"But he's still just a kid. You can at least try." Her conscience felt strongly about such things. She'd been orphaned too, after all. Never knew the identity of her parents or anything. You see, not all children are like Harry Potter. Some have guardians and parents who are not at all concerned about uteruses. Unfortunately for little baby Martha, this did not make her fate any different than Harry's. Her parents abandoned her as an infant and ran away. They simply did not care whose womb she came out of. She was unacceptable. How terrible to know such a thing about yourself! Even Harry's parents had only involuntarily given up their child, what with death and all. Ms. Croxley lived with the fact that her parents left her despite being perfectly functional human beings. Well, except for the child abandonment issue. So she'd lived at an orphanarium until her age of majority.

Shaking her head lightly, she continued to dive through Harry Potter's record-a small mountain even compared to most of the older children-and only grew more upset with what she saw. Page after page filled with descriptions of rule-breaking, fights, and all sorts of misconduct. 'Regardless of his circumstances, this is too much. There's a fight logged on almost every bloody day!' She winced at some of the injuries described. 'Couldn't imagine why. Seems like he gets his arse kicked more than anything else.' She'd had enough. The folder was closed with a soft thud. She would find out the next day exactly what kind of child this Harry Potter was and she would stop this bullshit. She was a teacher, not a damn babysitter.

Of course, nothing really ever goes to plan. The fact that Martha Croxley was still alive is testimony to that. Harry Potter would meet her for the first time in just a few minutes. It's about time! The poor boy hadn't gotten a moment's peace since that You-Know-Who business. That wasn't changing so far today.

* * *

"Oh, hey Harry! Welcome back to school!"

Harry barely cocked his head to look at his cousin's friend. Piers. That malicious voice. He knew what was coming. Sitting in a crowded area didn't ever help, but he'd tried it anyway.

"Aw, what's the matter? Forget how to speak?"

Harry said nothing. Sometimes Piers got bored and went away.

"Nah, he's just too dumb to say anything!" No chance of that happening anymore. Dudley never gave up once he got it in mind to play with Harry. "We'll give you a welcome back party at your favorite spot." Dudley gave a little smirk. "Ha! Should we drag him?"

Harry remained silent, but stood and plodded toward the stairs behind the teacher's offices. Better than being tugged away by his shirt. Harry was always amazed that, in the two years of poundings next to a building meant for teachers, no teachers had ever come to his aid. 'How strange.' He kept thinking on it. It helped distract him from the fists. That was eight now. 'So why did they all think it was him who started these fights anyway?' Nine. 'That's so stupid. I'm the only one who ever ended up hurt. Dudley's excuses weren't all that'—ten—'good anyhow.' Eleven and twelve, both had hit at once. Harry may have only been seven, but even he could see that something terribly unfair was going on. Thirteen. Harry wished with all his heart that they'd just stop. Just stop. Fourteen. Stop. The fists stopped. Beating a prone victim isn't nearly as fun, you know. That's what they would have thought if they were capable of articulating such complex emotions as boredom. Dudley gave him a sharp kick in the ribs and they walked away.

How fortunate for Harry!

Only fourteen punches. That beat the old record by four punches easily.

Even more wonderful for Harry was the ignorance of one Martha Croxley. As it happens, she was supposed to be sitting with the teachers outside the school on the playground, watching the children like a proper babysitter. The teachers, of course, never considered the blind spots where kids could be taken with little notice. However, Ms. Croxley was a new teacher and hadn't been properly informed of her full duties just yet, so she sat in the teacher's lounge. She had seen the whole thing from the second story window.

How fortunate for Harry!

And how terrible that such a thing is considered good fortune.

Now the young woman was quite confused. This did not fit. Nothing fit. Was that really Potter? Maybe the teacher that had told her it was him was mistaken. She hadn't even read through any of the other folders because of how interested she was in the Potter boy. Now that interest was multiplied a hundredfold. The bell rang. As students began pouring into her classroom, she turned and realized she had actual lessons to teach. The kids had apparently picked up on Harry's tendencies and heckled him a bit with such gems as "Oi, Harry! Nice face!" and "You look like a week old banana, Potter!". She would wait until after school.

As the students begin to head out the doors and for the buses, she turned to Dudley and handed him an official-looking piece of paper. He looked at her with dull confusion and she replied "Show it to your parents. Harry is staying here with me. Detention. I will arrange for his return home later." Harry's face was crestfallen. Dudley gave Harry a smile and a smack on the back where a particularly nasty bruise was located and walked out. Harry froze up, then spoke.

"Detention? But—"

"That's enough out of you. Sit in a desk in the front row and wait for me. I'll be back in just a couple minutes."

Harry nodded in resignation and she walked out of the room. Of course, it was quite illegal for a teacher to drive a student home, but they didn't know that. 'If I'm right… this is worth it.' She grabbed the yellowed folded card stock marked **H. Potter** and brought it back with her into the classroom where Harry sat. Droplets of salinated water had already begun trickling down his cheeks. It had nothing to do with the beatings or the punishments, of course. Those tears had dried up long ago. However, for both of the last two years Harry had hoped beyond all hope that he could get a teacher to help him. He'd had no such luck. And now this one hated him before he could even do anything. Harry hated crying and he almost never did it anymore, but it was just too much. He'd failed again. Another year of beatings, cupboards, hunger pangs… and the loneliness. People don't understand. A year is a long time. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty-five hours. All that time spent absolutely alone. No friends, no family, no father or mother figure. Nothing. Imagine it! Harry did. And so the tears flowed.

She read the papers inside the yellowed folded card stock and then looked back to him.

"Harry Potter."

He sniffled.

"Do you know what I have here?"

He shook his head no. Students weren't supposed to know what's in the folders, but exceptions are always made for the exceptional. Such is the way of the world.

"This folder has many pages in it and they're all about you. Do you know what they might say?" Another nod no. "Let me tell you. It says that you're a bad boy. It says that you pick fights and are mean to other students. Is that true?"

Harry looked like he would open his mouth, but didn't. He shook his head again.

"Harry, listen to me. This is my first day teaching here. Before reading this, I had no idea who you were. This—" She wagged the yellowed folded card stock in the air, "makes you sound like a very bad person, but the boy sitting in front of me doesn't act like that at all. So, can you tell me why these papers say such terrible things about you?"

Harry looked at her balefully and lowered his head. He didn't answer. She prodded him again. "Some of the things in here are things your Uncle said about you. Now, why would he say these things about you if they're not true?"

Harry's head shot up like a launching catapult and his tears faded from his eyes for a brief moment and were replaced by… something. Was it determination? Or rage?

"He hates me. He always has hated me. He says mean things about me to our neighbors too. He says I'm a…" He tried his best to imitate Vernon's inflection. "… _freak_."

And that's coming from the uterus guy! What bollocks!

Harry didn't stop. "He says I'm lucky they took me in after my parents died. He says I don't deserve it."

Incidentally, Ms. Croxley felt like she would explode after hearing each sentence that began with "He says…" That unpleasant feeling wasn't done yet.

"He says I don't deserve a room, that Dudley gets two rooms because he's a good boy and I'm not. All he does is get presents and eat and sleep and-" Harry forgot to mention breathing, but that was just a nuisance that interrupted the other three things, after all. Now he stopped. His voice was all choked up. Humans have a bad tendency of being unable to speak in times when speech is needed most, because their big mammal brains get overwhelmed with emotions and can't make the parts move all right like they used to.

Ms. Croxley looked at the boy in front of her with a glint in her eye and told him why he was really here. This wasn't for punishment. This was for something else entirely. After-school lessons in a class no one had ever taken before. If it were to have a title, it would be _Being An Orphan: How To Stay Alive, Sane, and Reasonably Content_. You see, Martha Croxley had quickly devised a plan. She fancied herself some kind of mentor, a light for this little orphan child to look up to and learn from. "I'm going to teach you how to make all pain go away," she said. She was quite a self-deluded person. In reality, she was just a bitter, angry young woman who was determined to impart her frustrations onto this unsuspecting boy, who had nothing and no one else to look up to. So she poured information into his big, malleable mammal brain.

"Write this down!" she snapped, "These things are important!" Of course, they weren't so important. She told him simple things, things a seven year old could easily process and imprint upon his own mind. Orphans are hated by everyone. You can't trust anyone but yourself. Break the rules if you have to. Put yourself first and let others fall if they get in the way of that. Things like that. In other words, she was teaching him how to be an absolute bastard.

She was going to live out her hatred vicariously through him.

But Harry Potter doesn't hate so easily.

* * *

After a full two hours of this, she slid Harry into the seat of her car and drove him home to 4 Privet Drive. That's a bit inaccurate, actually, as she drove to a place a block away from Privet Drive, then let him out of the car. "Tell them I made you walk part of the way," she said, "they'll think I'm a right proper teacher for that, I'm sure!" Sure as the coming sunset, Harry arrived home to a glowering uncle.

"Boy! Dudley gave me that note from your teacher." He waved it at Harry's nose, his face pulsing and throbbing like a dog's when it sticks its head out the car window. "What is the meaning of this?"

Harry faltered for just a moment, but summoned up his courage and replied, "She said… she said a bad student like me needs detention for punishment, sir." He remembered what she said about walking home. "She even dropped me off too soon and made me walk part of the way. Said it was 'good for my character', sir, and that if you don't mind she'll keep me after school until I behave right."

That did the trick.

Angry people are predictable people. That's one of the things Harry had learned that day from his new and thoroughly fucked up teacher.

From then on, every day after school, Harry was drilled incessantly on the methods of selfishness. He was taught how to steal food from the market, how to keep his uncle from beating him, how to avoid his cousin. Take small things that can be placed in backpacks, wake up before dawn to do housework, and sit near teachers during recess respectively. Harry never had a chance. He hadn't just been physically starved, after all. Emotionally and mentally he was barren as a desert. Croxley didn't give a damn about either of those things. She was just a lonely and bitter woman who had also been crushed early in life by people who cared too much about uteruses. Where do they find these people, anyway?

Who can say! Who indeed!

Because of his unsated hunger, he devoured her words with no restraint. His notebook began filling rapidly, not with math or grammar or science, but with life. In his chicken scratch handwriting, he scribbled every single thing she said that he thought was even slightly important and drilled it into his brain when he was locked in the cupboard.

After two weeks of this, Harry met someone new yet again. Once school was over, Martha told him that she had to leave for a brief time. He had been instructed to sit still in Croxley's classroom and shut up. She departed and did not return for forty and five minutes, after which she returned with a little girl, much littler than Harry. She looked about five, with about the most scornful face you'd ever imagine seeing on such a young girl. She got that and the red in her brownish red hair from her mother. Her father, who neither she nor Martha knew in any capacity, had given her his immaculate hair (the brownish part included), smooth cheeks, and rampant oversexuality. She hadn't quite learned about that one. She's only five! Sheesh.

"Harry, this is my daughter. Bloody daycare closing early just because the head is in the hospital? A right wanker he is anyway, hope he bites the dust right this afternoon. Damn tosser. She has to stay here with me because the daycare is run by retards. Carrington, go sit in the corner! Read a book or summin'." She sidled over to the corner and slouched down in it in a way that didn't acknowledge she'd heard a thing. "Now Harry, let's talk about what to do when you make friends. What was the rule number one we discussed last week about friends?"

"Never trust a friend with everything about myself."

"That's right. Even your best friend can't know everything about you. They'll just turn it on you later. You have to always keep them going along with little bits about you, never the whole story."

Croxley had learned that one when she was eleven, from a particularly nasty little boy she'd met in the orphanage. He had wormed his way into her trust for months and she began to lean on him. She told him about her rare sickness. Kawasaki disease. His big mammal brain told him it would be funny to tell all the kids about her problem, so he did. Kawasaki's is, of course, an entirely non-transmissible genetic disease. Try telling a bunch of prepubescents that. It took her years to get over the stigma that resulted from being known as the sick girl. That's partly why Harry was learning to be an absolute bastard instead of getting beaten by one.

The day was a Monday. The daycare manager had gotten sick two days ago, on a Saturday. Harry had met Croxley on a Monday as well, two weeks prior. The daycare manager died on Friday. Martha Croxley died on Tuesday.

The divergence had given her a bit of a reprieve, but fate waits for no one. It had been her driving yet again. She hadn't slept enough Monday night and drifted off at the wheel of her big metal wheeled thing, right into a conifer. Whoops. Harry found out that morning, but he didn't cry. That was in the book, too.

Harry never gave it a name. Croxley had made him jot down everything she said into a grey-covered notebook, which he referred to in his head as "the book" or "his book". During their second week, Vernon had almost seen it and taken it away from him, so Harry made six extra copies and hid them in easy to find places. One under the floorboards of the cupboard, one buried at the playground near his house, another in a tree trunk outside of what used to be Croxley's classroom, and so on. When he got home that Tuesday, Dudley was quick to tell the Dursleys about how his teacher had died.

"Yeah, she got in a car crash! She fell asleep and drove into a tree. How dumb do you have to be to do that!"

Harry said nothing. He'd memorized the entire book, and from the book he knew that no matter how good it felt to give in to your anger in the moment, it wasn't worth it. Save revenge for later. Deep down, he wanted to push Dudley to the ground and beat him senseless, but that wouldn't do any good. Harry put spoiled cheese on his sandwich the next day instead. Dudley vomited for three whole days because of it, which gave Harry all the glee he needed. Vernon chose this moment to join Dudley in trampling on her memory.

"Bah, I knew it was too good to be true. At least keeping the boy after school made him a bit better mannered, unlike his freak parents. I don't know what she did, but I wish she'd told us so I could do it too." If he'd have known what it was, he would have said no such thing. He didn't want to do that at all. He was too busy worrying about womb origins and drills and such. "Boy! Since your teacher's dead, does that mean you come back on the bus with Dudley after school again?"

"No sir, the other teachers will keep me still, sometimes even longer."

That was a lie, of course. Harry was already getting better at that.

Harry Potter was not going back to Privet Drive when he was supposed to if he could help it, not with his world in front of him. He wasn't a complete prick just yet, though. Croxley only had two weeks to get to him. She hadn't broken him, but he was twisted out of place just enough to make a difference. All thanks to the efforts of an angry, embittered Squib.

Oh, did you not know?

Neither did she. It didn't really matter in the end.

* * *

Martha Croxley was not born with that title. No one knows what the hell she was born as, not even her parents. You see, her mother and father were magic-users, like Harry Potter would someday be. At a young age, they had conceived a child and waited with excitement for the day it would come to use magic. That day never came. Their child was perfectly normal in all sorts of ways: well-adjusted, properly mannered, even quite handsome. But he couldn't use magic, and that's all his parents cared about. Oh, they continued to raise him just fine. It was too late to simply let the child go. He went on to have a decent and normal life in the Muggle world that really shouldn't get too much attention.

Fortunately for the parents, the discovery of his magical impotence did not come too late for the mother. She was still fertile. They tried again.

**December 1962**

She sat in the hospital bed, tense with excitement and exhausted from her effort. The nurse of St. Mungo's Hospital skittered to and fro in the room, running magical tests on the newborn, checking on its health and current condition. Hospital things, you know. He stood apprehensively. His wife spoke to him in a tired half-whisper.

"Isn't she beautiful? Our baby. We still need a name for her."

"We'll figure that out later, sweetheart. Just relax for now."

The nurse turned to them and spoke. "I have to check on another patient. I'll see to you in just a moment, excuse me." She left the room in the manner that many of her type seem to, with a hurried shuffle like a penguin waddling very rapidly. Her penguin walk was the last thing on his mind, though. He was thinking about his trip to Knockturn Alley.

"_We don't have anything like that here! Look, if you want sketchy products like that, try that mangy street vendor in the space between Borgin and Burke's and the Wailing Witch. He has ridiculous stuff like that sometimes. Don't say I didn't warn you!_"

_ He didn't care. He'd heard rumors of a certain potion being sold in Knockturn Alley. A potion that told you whether or not your baby would be magical. He had to have it._

_ He made his way to Borgin and Burke's and glanced to the left of it. Sure enough, a raggedy, scruffy man sat on the ground with a case full of… something. Could it be? He had to ask._

"_Hullo, rat. I heard you might have the Squibseer Potion. Don't waste my time, just tell me whether or not you've got some in that bloody case of yours._"

_ The desolate man squinted up at him. _"_What's it to you? That's not a Ministry-approved potion, why would I have it?_"

"_Don't waste my fucking time! I had one Squib and it won't happen again! Now tell me, do you have any of the bloody potion or not?_"

_ The man smiled. More of a grimace, really, with a mouth full of more gaps than teeth. _"_Yeah, I got it._" _He withdrew a vial full of a purple substance. _"_Ten galleons for absolute certainty._" _The father made a face. He didn't appreciate the pricing. _

"_Ten galleons? I already told you not to waste my fucking time. I'll give you five galleons and you'll give me the damn potion, whether you do so willingly or not._"

_ Haggling isn't so hard, really._

So he had waited for the nurse to leave the room. His wife was still holding the baby. "Can I hold her? Just for a moment."

She relented and handed him the baby. He took the precious bundle of life in his hands delicately. His daughter, his magic-using daughter! He knew it had to be, but he was going to use the potion just in case. He turned his back to his wife so that the baby was out of eyesight and slipped the long, thin vial from behind his ear and poured it in the infant's mouth. The sign would soon be on her forehead, with an M for magic-user and an S for a Squib. In his heart-wrenching anxiety, he didn't even think to take the potion himself first.

All the damn thing did was put an S on the forehead of the drinker for five seconds. It was Knockturn Alley, what did he think was going to happen? The potion was a poorly made fake that would mark anyone who took it as an outcast, a Squib. The baby was no exception.

His heart sunk to his stomach when he saw it. A big S emblazoned on her forehead in bright red. 'It simply isn't possible. Not two. Not two in a row. Not again, not a-fucking-gain, no, no, no no no no no no no no no no no no no—'

And on and on went his big mammal brain. He was driving himself insane with grief. He bought the potion as a self-relief mechanism, but in his heart he hadn't even considered a future in which his second child was a Squib. 'Another fucking Squib. That bitch. How could she give me two Squibs? My magical blood is pure. That god damn half-blood must have something to do with it. And the baby…'

"Honey, are you all right?"

He was shaking. She must have noticed. The nurse walked back in and began shuffling around the mother, examining her now. He walked numbly toward the door and closed it.

"Honey?"

"_Obliviate._"

He hit the nurse dead on. Her eyes glazed over.

"Honey! What the hell are you—"

"_Obliviate._"

Accurate again.

"You won't remember that I used the Memory Charm. You will remember that the baby died tragically just after childbirth." He choked up with frustration at this failure. Abject, absolute failure, again. "She displayed infantile accidental magic that went haywire and it killed her. You'll remember that I Disapparated in my grief with the baby's body and that I'll be back. You were okay with this, but upset that I left with little explanation."

He Disapparated into Muggle London in a haze, still not really sure of himself or what he was doing. He found a Muggle orphanage and left the baby there. No explanation, no note, no name. The woman who found her was named Martha Dearborn. She worked at the Daniel Croxley Memorial Orphanarium as a glorified babysitter, taking care of the restless children with no home, no parents, no one to love them.

* * *

**October 1987**

Her father is still out there. Her mother is not. That's his fault. The birth of a second Squib child drove him over the edge and he ended up poisoning her the day after the baby "died" for her failure to produce a proper heir. The doctors said it was grief from the loss of her child that stripped her of her will to live. That's a reasonable assumption to make. They didn't realize that the father had just become one of those damn uterus people, like Vernon and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Her womb wasn't fit for magical children, so it was better off not being around. He found another uterus for his purposes instead and fertilized several eggs inside it, all magical. He is currently leading a happy life. What a magnificent bastard. How is it that the asses of the world get such happy endings?

Who can say! Who indeed!


	2. Prologue 2: Nine Years Old

Chapter 2

**Prologue 2: Nine Years Old**

**September 1989**

Tap tap tap.

Tap tap tap.

Tap tap tap.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap—

"Yip yip yip yip!"

'…What?' Harry snapped out of his fog.

"Excuse me?"

"Mister Potter! I said would you please quit that infernal racket while I am trying to teach? That is the third time today!"

"Sorry, Miss Fontainebleau."

"And get your books out of your backpack!" There was, of course, nothing in his backpack. "Don't just sit there without taking notes young man, you're not here to dawdle."

He couldn't help it. He was just so bored. Every day he sat in class and tolerated the droning of his well-intentioned, boring teachers. He just didn't care. He had better things to do. For the past couple years he'd been finding those better things to do. Every day after school he'd been leaving the grounds at the same time as everyone else, but with a somewhat different destination. While Dudley and the rest of his classmates climbed the dirty stairs onto the bus, Harry slinked off through a hole he'd personally carved in the school fence and went on his daily errands. He'd refined his routine down to near-perfection. His first stop was the corner grocer. He'd figured out around the first Christmas after he finished his book that all the food that had passed the "sell by" date was thrown out at 4 PM daily. His empty backpack was stuffed full of food daily.

Today he was again foraging in the alley behind the grocer. It was a Friday, so he had to make sure to get enough for the weekend. He couldn't sneak away on the weekends like he could now. Harry had been stealing notes from the desks of Mr. Fox, Mrs. Fogerly, and now Miss Fontainebleau and writing in his own detention updates to turn into the Dursleys every month. He swept his mussed black bangs out of his eyes and picked up a box of snack cakes. 'Bloody brilliant!' He almost never found sweets. Kids like Dudley pestered their parents too much for them to be tossed often.

The floorboards under his little cupboard room were getting full, but he didn't really have other options. Harry was already starting to outgrow his tiny living space. He was only nine, but he had already hit a growth spurt in his limbs that his body couldn't match, making him look just as gangly as before, even with the size he'd put on.

Eating actual food has its advantages.

He grabbed a few more non-perishables and stuffed them in his pack before walking out of the area, cheerfully whistling along the way. He moved on his usual route to his next destination: the library. Harry didn't like school or learning, but after he finished the book he found out the library had lots of fun stories in it. It was a place a kid could sit and do whatever he liked and not be bothered by adults. What's more, Harry soon found out that he could ask for a list of any category of books at any library in Surrey and request they be sent to the library in Little Whinging. He'd moved on from children's books a year ago and got bored with most adult fiction soon after. Now he just checked out whatever kept the boredom of sitting in a cupboard by himself away. That's why he was here now, at the Little Whinging library.

"Afternoon Miss Holcombe! How's the place been today?"

"Just fine Harry. Those books you asked for came in. Goodness, you're quite the voracious reader." That was an untruth. It just happens that reading is more fun than twiddling one's thumbs in a dark room. Harry had swiped some candles and eventually a flashlight from Petunia to take care of the dark issue, but the tiny room didn't really have many options other than books. "Am I ever going to get to meet those parents of yours? They must be awfully busy to never come with you to the library."

Harry grimaced, but only inwardly. He hated when Vernon and Petunia were brought up. People being suspicious was the first step toward his freedom being taken away. That must not happen. So outwardly, he flashed a grin. "Sorry Miss Holcombe, you know how busy they are. Mum works extra time at the orphanage because they've got so many kids."

Irony. Petunia would rather be a beggar than work with orphans. Kids like him, in other words. What a bloody prick.

"That's sweet of her Harry, but I worry about how little attention they pay to you."

Harry smiled legitimately at that. He was exactly the opposite of worried about how little attention the Dursleys paid him. '"Attention only gets you hurt." One of my book's best lessons.' He was unaware of how true it had been for him in his past.

Too bad his parents never learned that one. Whoops.

Harry gave her another cheerful look. "Don't worry about it. You're a great librarian and I know they don't have a problem with me staying here with you for an hour or two. Trust me!"

She really shouldn't. But she did.

Harry grabbed his pile of books and brought them over to an unoccupied table to figure whether or not he actually wanted to keep them. It was hard to get a grasp on whether he wanted a book just from its title or its subject, so he sent back several each time. Today's was a good haul. A couple of interesting novels and even a couple of practical books looked promising. Harry generally wasn't into those, but after he accidentally picked up the snoozer titled _The Joys of Locksmithing_ when he was eight, he became a believer. Most of it was technical garbage, but he'd been stuck in the cupboard with nothing better to do and found one chapter about the drawbacks of poorly made locks. Harry had stolen several of Petunia's bobby pins after that "mistake" and never looked back.

It wasn't as if he could just leave the cupboard whenever he bloody pleased. One surprise shakedown and it would be over, not a fate Harry looked forward to. He unlocked the door late at night or early in the morning to clean the house so he wouldn't have to do it later or to make a decent hot meal in the Dursley's kitchen. They all slept like hogs anyway.

Looked like 'em, too.

He also plied his trade when they left him with Mrs. Figg and she took a nap with her cats, those mangy, rabid things. He'd sneak out of the house and slip into his cousin's before the prying neighbors could notice and he'd take whatever he felt like. Once, Petunia left her purse sitting on the counter when the Dursley's had gone out for ice cream.

Harry ate like a prince for a week.

With that in mind, Harry always wrote for a few less interesting books with his "fun" reading. He was only nine, but occasionally he stumbled across a few things that tickled his fancy. He found out that he liked reading about sports, and that he liked playing them even more. His Wednesdays didn't go by the routine after that day. Instead, he went to the local pitch and played pickup with boys his age. Turns out Harry Potter was quite the striker for a boy of nine and without Dudley's presence, he was always picked (but never picked on!). He also found out that he liked cooking when he wasn't doing it as a butler. A nine year old reading a book about baking is a rather strange sight. Some people grow up too soon because it's in their nature.

Others grow up too soon because they have to.

Harry packed the good books in his pack's other pocket and left the rest with Miss Holcombe. She was nice and he didn't really enjoy lying to her, but he never forgot his book's words. Never trust anyone with everything. He walked down the street whistling and checked the time on his cheap little pocket watch—a memento from the day Vernon left his wallet on the counter during dinner. 'Bugger, I'm going to be late. Knew I shouldn't have spent so much time looking through that book about the World Cup. Guess I'll cut through the neighborhoods.'

Harry knew his routes home very well. He'd come up with them after Vernon had driven right by him on his way home from work, missing him only because he had his hand—and eyes—in the bag of crisps sitting next to him. Harry never went back on that road again. He came up with a different way home and an emergency plan if he were ever late. That's just what he was carrying out now, hopping over fences and cutting through the backyards of the Surrey suburbs. The distance wasn't too far, but he was traveling on foot.

He recited the method in his head as he hopped from yard to yard. 'First foot on the foothold, second foot, throw yourself over, get to the other side before anyone sees you. First foot on the foothold, second foot, throw yourself over, get to the other side before anyone sees you.' Except this time he'd made to the street.

He checked his watch and decided to take a breather, strolling down the road. There was a ball sitting on the side of the road, worn from disuse. He glanced at it and, in a spurt of childish playfulness, he punted it across the road. It didn't bounce very well anymore. Thud, thud, clunk.

"Stop!"

Harry's stroll came to a sudden end as he turned to find the source of the voice. A little girl with her hands on her hips stood with her lip jutting out and her brown hair ruffled from running over to him. She looked none too pleased to see him.

"I don't know who you are, but you can't kick our ball around like it's trash! It might not look very special, but we've been playing with it for a long time and you're being mean. Just because you're older than me doesn't mean you can be a bully, so stop!"

Harry peered down at her. He figured himself to be a bit over 145 cm (or 4'10" across the pond) and he had a good 10 cm on her at least. "I don't really think I'm all that much older than you. I'm only nine, you know."

She gaped. "Nine? I'm nine! But… you're so tall! You're almost as tall as my mum! She's a lot shorter than Daddy though. How'd you get so tall?"

"Dunno. What's it matter to you?"

"It matters because you kicked our ball! That wasn't very nice. It's not yours!"

'That doesn't really make sense.' Harry shrugged. "Sheesh, I'm sorry, okay?" He wasn't really sorry. "I'll get out of your hair." He blew a little gust of air at his own hair in his face in irritation. "I was just leaving anyway. I've got to get home."

She didn't move. She just stood and gaped at him.

"What? What's your bloody problem?" The same look persisted on her face. Harry had no idea what had come over this barmy little girl. "Look, I'm sorrier than ever I kicked your ball. That doesn't mean you have to stand there gaping at me like a fish. What's gotten into you?

"You're Harry Potter!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You could've figured that out sooner if you'd just asked my name. Why's it got your knickers in a twist all of a sudden?"

"You're really Harry Potter? For real? But why do you talk like that, like Daddy after he's had a bad day at work? Harry Potter wouldn't do that! My dad's a Muggle you know, but my mum, my mum works at the Ministry! And my auntie is famous! Oh, you'll have to meet her for sure. She can teach you lots about proper broom technique—oh, but I'm sure you know how to do that already."

Harry's eyes began to glaze over again as the girl went on and on and on in the strangest manner he'd ever seen. 'Proper broom technique? Bloody hell, I do enough sweeping that I'm a right master at that. What is wrong with this girl? She's absolutely spastic. Is my language really that bad? I guess I am a little young. Wait a tick…'

"How did you know my name is Harry Potter?"

She gave him another look, as if he'd asked what two plus two is. "Are you joking? You're Harry Potter! I saw the scar when you puffed on your hair. No one else has that lightning bolt scar but Harry Potter. Oh, my friends won't believe it when I tell them I actually met you. How come you live in Surrey anyway? I live in Surrey because my Daddy likes the Muggle world better. What really happened to You-Know-Who?"

Yip yip yip yip.

And so on.

Harry let her prattle while he struggle to figure out what was going on. 'Okay, she knows who I am, but I haven't the faintest idea who she is. She knows my scar, so apparently the scar is a big deal. Almost as if I were a bloody celebrity. And apparently I shouldn't use foul language? What kind of bloke is expected not to swear? Ministers, superheroes, politicians, teachers… oh I give up. And what's a bloody Muggle? But she can't know that I don't know these things.' That was in his book too. Never let anyone know your gaps. So he beat around the bush a bit.

"So, you think you know me pretty well eh? I've never met you! I don't know a mite about you, so don't you think it's a bit weird that you know all about me? It sure is rather weird to me."

Her face flushed. "I hadn't really thought about that."

Harry responded before she could recover. "Then why don't you tell me what you think you know about me and I'll tell you what's true and what's not. That's rightly fair, don't you think?"

Her face scrunched up as she considered it. "I guess so," she said, drawing out the 's' sound in guess like a child learning her letters. She was still a little confused by the way he was behaving. "Okay, so you're… Well, you're Harry Potter! And you… Ahhh! I don't know where to start."

Harry sighed. This girl was really wearing on his nerves. "How about you start from the beginning? Tell me what you know from the start and I'll butt in if you say anything that doesn't sound right. That okay with you?"

"I suppose." She took a deep breath. "Okay, so, you're Harry Potter!" She waved her hands excitedly.

Harry snorted. "I gathered that much."

"Yeah! And when you were a baby, the evilest wizard ever came to your house and killed your mum and dad." Harry's eyebrows shot up at that, but he braced himself. 'Evilest? Wizard? Killed my mom and dad?' She continued, "But when he tried to kill you, something happened! No one knows what, but You-Know-Who was defeated all because of you! So you're the Boy-Who-Lived and… and… you're a hero! Because of you we don't have to worry about him anymore!"

Harry stood stone silent. His mind was just about blank but for one word. '…What?'

That was not what he'd been expecting.

'This girl is clearly out of sorts. But if that's true, how did she know my name? Or that my parents are dead? What is going on here? How do I do this without making myself look like a fool?' Harry wracked his brain for answers and came up with something.

"Oh."

'Not that!'

So he tried again.

"Um. Ah. So. You know me because I beat… well, you know who, right?" She nodded her head vigorously. "And you've got no idea how I did this, right?" She nodded again, but then started up and explained that she knew it was some kind of magic, but not what kind. "Magic, huh? So, do you know magic?"

She smiled at him. "Of course! Well, I'm not supposed to, but…" She looked at him with a secretive grin, "my mum doesn't know it, but I found where she keeps her spare wand. Sometimes, when she's gone, I take it and practice a bit."

Harry saw his opportunity to figure out exactly what was going on here and pounced. "So, does that mean you can get it now and show me some magic?"

Her face blanched. "Well, my mum wouldn't really like it…"

"Oh come on! I'm Harry Potter, you know. I would just love to see what you can do. Please?"

Her eyes widened at that. Here was a real life hero right in front of her, asking her to show him what kind of magic she could do. Her knees almost buckled, but she couldn't figure out why. She'd figure it out in a couple years when puberty inexorably rolled along. "A-all right! My parents go out on a date once a month on a Friday, so they're not in. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere!"

Go anywhere? After that steaming load of bollocks? Who'd do such a thing?

Who can say! Who indeed!

Harry had no intention of leaving. He was still trying to wrap his brain around what was going on. 'Magic? Wands? Either this girl is completely nutters or I'm completely nutters for believing any of this.' Memories suddenly began flooding his mind. Memories of him being recognized and greeted by strangers, just like today. 'That day we were at the grocer, that man bowed to me! And that other time on the bus with the lady all trussed up in green. These things have been going on for years and I never could make heads or tails of it. Could this be it?' The fact that he was now running late to get home had entirely left him at this point. His heart flooded with a great swell at an idea that his foster parents and everyone he ever knew had always pushed down. It was an idea that he had always hoped to be true, but never had any proof for. Until now.

He, Harry Potter, was special.

The girl came rushing out of the house with... 'A stick? Oh cripes, she's crazier than I thought. She's got a bloody stick in her hand.' He almost took off down the street, but his legs wouldn't move. Hope held him in place.

What a bothersome emotion.

"Here it is, Harry! Oh, I'm so excited. What should I do first, what should I do?" She looked at his face carefully. "Oh! Here, let me see your glasses. Don't look at me like that, give them here. All right, let me just unwrap this tape in the middle… I said not to look at me like that, just trust me. Um, I've only done this a few times before, so… um. Here goes!"

'If she breaks my glasses, I swear I'll strangle her,' was all he could really think.

"R-_Reparo!_"

Harry's eyes shot open wide as a faint glow came from the stick and swept over his mangled and worn glasses. The cracks in them crept together and quickly closed. Other than the dirt, his glasses looked good as new.

"How… how did you… What was that?"

Her face flushed and she grinned at him, clearly not expecting such a positive reaction "That was just a simple spell to fix your glasses! It wasn't anything special, really. The look on your face was priceless though!"

Harry was still in shock. "Can… can I… is there anywhere I can get one of those? Do you have another? A wand, I mean." His face was puckered like a gutted fish. Poor kid.

"Are you daft? You know kids can't buy a wand until they go to Hogwarts. The only reason I can use this is because it's my mum's and she's an adult. Besides, the only place to buy a wand near here is Diagon Alley."

"Well, why don't we go?"

.

* * *

.

"I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this."

Harry was trying to block her out as best he could and was failing stupendously. The hyperventilating girl sitting next to him on the Knight Bus, he'd found out, was Megan Jones. Her mother was a witch, but her father couldn't do magic. He was a "Muggle". Harry was still a little shell-shocked at the sudden appearance of the magical vehicle when the girl had sent up a shower of sparks with the stick… the wand. Learned that trick from her mum, she'd said Now she was apparently having second thoughts. He couldn't take her freaking out anymore. They were going to get kicked out or… something. 'How does that even work with wizards?' He couldn't help but wonder.

"Megan, please, calm down. Unless you want to get caught, you'll take a deep breath and calm down. You look bloody suspicious!"

Her eyes widened at that. Getting caught was exactly what she was worried about. She inhaled deeply and plopped her hands in her lap. With a sigh, her face went back to normal. "Okay. I can do this. I can run away with the Boy-Who-Lived to Diagon Alley while my parents are out. That's not crazy. I can do this. Even if it takes most of my allowance to pay the bus fare."

"That's the spirit! It's just a little adventure. We'll be back before your parents know you're gone. Admit it, this is fun."

Her face twitched. The corner of Harry's mouth quivered upward. At that, she gave him a weak, resigned smile.

"I knew it. You're just a little ball of nerves, that's all." He grinned at her. "Don't worry, we'll have a brilliant time!" He gave her a pat on the back and slipped back into thought for a moment, barely recognizing the look on her face that came in that moment of physical contact. 'I really don't want people knowing who I am, if I am seriously famous. My hair is pretty long, but if I have another slip-up like with her, my name will be blown. I think I still have my cap with me. Hope it's not crushed under all the books… brilliant!' He pulled it out of his backpack and slipped it on his head, the brim covering the scar nicely. 'Might look a little queer in a place full of wizards. What do wizards even look like? If those people I've met before were normal for real wizards, I'll probably look like an alien in there…'

Worrying about how he'd look in front of a bunch of men wearing dresses, waving sticks around and yelling in bastardized Latin. This is what Harry Potter was reduced to. Bollocks.

A voice boomed throughout the bus "Diagon Alley! Everyone for Diagon Alley!" The little girl dropped a few coins that Harry had never seen before and led him to the door. He and his new companion gingerly stepped out of the bus and came face to face with… a record store?

"No Harry, it's the pub right there. See it? It's a bit tough the first time you come, but you get used to it."

Harry's eyes trained to where she was indicating and he saw the sign for the "Leaky Cauldron". 'Now that she mentions it, the pub was rather obvious. It seems like all the walkers are having the same problem noticing it as I did. I wonder if that's magic.'

"Come on Harry, let's hurry! We don't have a lot of time as it is and a couple of kids heading into the Leaky Cauldron might be a little strange. We have to get through there and to Diagon Alley."

Harry nodded and followed as she weaved her way through the crowd toward an innocuous looking wall with a trash can next to it. Megan squinted at it for a second before standing on her tiptoes and tapping it three times with her mother's wand. Harry stared in wonder as an archway appeared from nowhere. 'Magic,' he figured rather dumbly. He stepped through the opening after her and was greeted with a huge marketplace, filled with shops holding some of the strangest things he'd ever seen. Actual witch's cauldrons, all kinds of magical items, animals, books, clocks, wands… Harry's brain almost shut down. It took a bump from Megan to snap him out of his reverie.

"Come on Harry, let's go where you want to go and get out of here! I swear, I still can't believe I'm doing this… It's not like you can buy anything with Muggle money anyway."

He gave her a little frown. "What? How'm I supposed to get anything at all then?"

She took another of those funny looking coins out of her pocket. It shined bright silver. She explained to him the way wizard's currency worked in detail.

"So is there no way to turn Muggle money into wizard money?"

"Of course, but the exchange rate is pretty bad. It's five pounds to a Galleon these days! Those goblins are awful about money, you know."

'Goblins?' he wondered. 'Later, later…'

"So can we go there now for a little spending money?"

.

* * *

.

Harry Potter walked out of Gringotts with his pockets singing the sweet music of freshly gotten money. Even though he hadn't really gained anything, the sound of coins jingling together was an indescribable melody to his ears. People who grow up in lack for so long tend to be more attached to money than most. He smiled contentedly to himself as he walked. "Cling, clang, ding, ding," his pockets crooned. "Clink clink, ding ding." The girl was already chasing behind him, so he begrudgingly slowed his pace.

"Harry! You exchanged over a hundred pounds! You're… you're rich!"

He gave her a wink and a nod. "Don't be silly. That's almost all the money I've got. I'm just excited to be here. Who knows when I'll come back? Let's go shopping!"

Harry had in his pockets exactly 21 Galleons, 16 Sickles, and 5 Knuts. It had taken most of the money he'd been saving from his field opportunities, but he'd gotten plenty of wizard money and still had about fifteen pounds to his name. He took a deep breath and looked around. 'Where _do_ I want to go first? There's just so much to see. I just went to the library an hour ago, so I think I'll save books for later. But I—is that… is that…'

"Megan!" The tone of his voice was so emotion-laden that she whirled around with an anxious look on her face. "We're going to get ice cream, now!"

She caught herself and sighed. "You're unbelievable." Still, she was a kid just like him. She couldn't help but smile at the idea of ice cream. "Cool, I guess we can get some ice cream. Let's go!"

He walked into Florian Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour with a bounce in his step and got ice cream for the both of them, 2 Sickles and 2 Knuts worth. They sat in a corner booth and Harry sighed with rare relaxation. "This is brilliant! I don't know how this thing manages to stay upright." He was eating a Neapolitan sundae that was stacked like an upside down pyramid on his dish, with the flavors getting stronger the closer they were to the bottom scoop. "Well, other than magic, you know. It's delicious, too! The chocolate especially, it gets better and better as I eat it!"

For just a moment, Harry Potter forgot about his book. He forgot about the fact that he was Harry Potter, that he was straying far from home in a bloody magical bazaar, that magic even existed, that his adoptive parents were abusive, that no one in the world really loved him. Right now, it was just a nine year old and his ice cream.

Life's about the small things.

His little slice of heaven was interrupted by the catalyst to his adventure. "Mine's good, too. But we've got to hurry! Some of the stores close pretty early around here you know, and I have to get back before my parents get home."

Harry cocked his head a little to the left. "Didn't you say they wouldn't be back until nine? What's the big deal? We've got plenty of time. But if you're right about the stores, I guess I can go a little quicker." Harry devoured his ice cream with the enthusiasm only a young boy with little to live for but himself can have. His stomach gurgled its approval and he stood abruptly. "Come on! We've got places to go, magical things to buy!"

With that, he yanked her out of her seat and ran out of the door. The man behind the counter, Fortescue himself, smiled at the sight.

A kid without a care in the world is always something to appreciate.

.

* * *

.

"You said your aunt knows a lot about brooms, right? Where can I get one here?" Harry didn't know what the deal was with brooms, but if Dudley's TV programs had anything to say about it, he might be flying one before too long.

Megan shrugged. "There's a bunch of stores here, but a new broom would take most of the money you have, even an older model. If you really want one, my aunt says 2nd Hand Brooms has got used brooms on the cheap."

"Brilliant! Let's go!" And off he went again. Harry Potter was like a kid in magic store. That makes sense.

In minutes, Harry had picked up a battered but still working Cleansweep Five for a couple Galleons and four Sickles. It was an old model, but it still flew decently according to the shop owner. He'd rather impressed his new friend with how well he haggled with the haggard old lady who ran the place, knocking her down from six Galleons and seven Sickles without missing a beat. Harry had taken parts of his book too literally and applied his rampant suspicion of all people to shopkeepers and their prices. Guess that had come in handy in getting his new broom, though.

"Harry! It's going to be a pain carrying things around if you buy too much more stuff. Do you have a trunk? I'm sure you could get one here somewhere. There are trunks that can hold stuff lots bigger than the trunk because of the charms they put on it. Would you like one?"

Harry grinned at that. "Would I ever! That sounds brilliant!"

"That's about the fifth time you've said brilliant today, Harry." She gave him a look of mock indignation. "You act like you've never even seen real magic before. Honestly, don't be such a child! Oh, don't give me that look, I was only kidding. Promise!"

Harry had blanched at her words. He thought she'd finally figured his ignorance out, but he recovered quickly and pegged her on the arm, returning her look of feigned irritation. "You better be kidding. We'll definitely go get that trunk."

As it happens, Harry Potter bought a rather nice trunk. It cost him a good portion of his money, eight Galleons on the dot, but the trunk was a marvel of Charms work. It had several compartments, including a portable library that could hold around fifty books and something he'd have paid every pound he had for: temperature-controlled storage. For an extra three galleons he had it permanently transfigured into the shape of his old backpack. He even put his old backpack inside his new one. That was quite funny to him.

The reason it was so cheap? The owner's jilted ex-girlfriend had gone nutters in his shop and hit his wares with all kinds of spells. She'd nicked the trunk with a particularly obnoxious Color Changing charm that refused to come off, so Harry's new backpack was a proud vomit green with flecks of puce scattered about. The thing had been on sale at a bargain bin price for nearly a decade. Fortunately, Harry's big mammal brain didn't really care what it looked like.

Good for him! Good for his brain!

Walking out and humming a tune, Harry was disappointed to hear the volume on his new favorite song somewhat muted. "Clink clink," it sang sadly, much weaker than before. He only had a handful of Galleons left in his pocket. He figured it was finally time to go to the bookstore. They walked into Flourish and Blotts and Harry's eyes caught a feverish glint. He didn't particularly like books, but this was a different story entirely. This was magic, magic that he could do if he could just get his hands on these books, all of these books! It was a tempting prospect, but the much diminished song from his pockets told him it was not to be. He started to look through all the books and noted the ones that stood out the most in his head. That process didn't help. He ended up with far too many books after just five minutes. The fact that he had a tagalong was again a moot point, until she snapped him out of his trance.

"Hey, Harry! Merlin, you are zoned out aren't you? Harry, I have to go home soon. Please?"

Harry gave a resigned sigh and thought about which ones he wanted most. He was definitely getting An Overview of Magic, a huge but non-instructional tome that listed and described all the known types of magic. Deciding on the other books was a hassle. He eventually settled on simply getting the full set of The Standard Book of Spells, because many of the things listed in them sounded bloody convenient. 'Instant cleaning? A way to make myself mostly unnoticed by people without magic? And hey, the thing she used to fix my glasses! This stuff is brilliant. Hang the other books, this will do just fine!'

Harry bought his books and was left with a couple Galleons and some change. He stored the books in his new library in the front left pocket of his new backpack and was bloody happy about the entire arrangement. With a cheery look on his face, he walked out the door, with the girl again following behind him. His new follower had a puzzled look on her face. He was curious.

"What's with the look? Your face is all scrunched up again, like you do when you're confused."

Her face lit up red, like half a set of Christmas lights. "I didn't know people could tell when I did that. But I am wondering, how are you going to use this if you can't do magic? That first book is gigantic, but it's not a practical book. What are you going to do with all those charms books?"

He showed her another of his brilliant, cheeky grins. "I'll just study, I suppose. Can't hurt, right?"

"I guess not. Come on, we gotta go! I've should be home soon, in case my parents decide to come back early."

.

* * *

.

It turns out that they did arrive early. Fortunately for Megan Jones, they were only thirty minutes early and not an hour early. If they'd come home then, they'd have seen their daughter get off the Knight Bus with that wiry, raven haired boy everyone loves. He paid for the fare this time and the bus roared away. It was almost dark out by the time they got back. She turned to look at him and smiled.

"Thanks Harry, for today. I really did have a good time, even if it was a terribly dangerous and ridiculous idea. You'll come back?"

Another toothy grin. "Of course! And thank you for being such a good travelling partner. But I'd best get home, I'm sure my parents would like that. And hey, don't tell anyone about today, no matter what. I know you want to tell your friends, but let's keep it a secret between us, okay?" He gave her a little wink. "Bye!" And then he gave her a hug. It wasn't a sidearm hug meant for new companions, but rather a close, personal hug that should be shared by dear friends and family. His arms slid around her as he hunched over to get on somewhat equal height terms. He watched her face turn tomato red as her big mammal brain struggled to return the gesture. Yet another example of a time in which all that brainpower shuts down in the situations it's needed most. He broke the hug and ran off down the street, waving as he went. More than ever he looked like the nine year old boy he really was, not the burdened young man he was all too rapidly becoming.

Her eyes sparkled as she watched him go. It was a crush at first sight and the things he'd done were more than enough to encourage that. To her, he was a knight in shining armor, _the_ Harry Potter. Too bad he didn't give a toss whether she kicked off or not.

.

* * *

.

**November 1989**

A panicked middle-aged woman yelled for her husband, "Honey, have you seen my spare wand? I know I put it in the closet under the box of old photo albums."

His head popped into view of the closet doorway. "Sorry dear, no idea. I haven't ever touched it, you know that. You don't think…"

His unfinished sentence clicked in her mind, too.

"Megan! Get in here, now!"

That tone of voice was never good. She walked into the room with her hands in her pockets, awaiting the coming inquisition. She didn't know what it was about, but the way her mother called for her made it sound like she'd triggered the end of the world. For all she knew, she might have.

"Megan, I'm going to ask you once and you have to answer me truthfully. Do you know where my spare wand is?" Her mother gave her the death glare and she gulped nervously. Memories of that day over two months ago spilled back into her mind. But the wand… she never had put the wand back. In fact, she wasn't sure where she'd put it. The thought had slipped her mind in all the excitement of meeting Harry Potter. So she answered truthfully.

"Mum, I don't know where your spare wand is. I'm really sorry."

Before she could finish and tell her that she didn't know where it was because she'd lost it, her voice caught in her throat. Stupid brain. Her mother gave her one more look and, satisfied she'd been telling the truth, gave a sigh. "All right, I'll have to go to Diagon Alley to get another. I didn't mean to yell at you Megan, but Dad's the only one who knew where it was. I can't imagine what happened to it. Magic is a queer thing sometimes."

.

* * *

.

**September 1989**

As soon as he got around the street corner, Harry reached into his pocket and smirked as he felt the slender piece of wood that rested against his thigh. Had he accidentally taken it from her pocket just before he'd left? What an unfortunate mistake. No, he wouldn't be going back to the Jones' house ever again, hang the promise. The girl had practically been mesmerized by his every word the entire trip. She'd put up a bit of a front, pretending to be tough and all that for the "great" Harry Potter, but the look on her face after he'd embraced her was all he needed to know. He laughed aloud.

"Can't believe she actually thought I was giving her a hug. Naïve tart, that one." His joy of victory was dashed when he realized what time it was. He shuddered with the realization that he'd have to deal with Vernon now. He didn't relish the look on the pudgy man's face when he came back so late. He could imagine vividly how puffy and furious his out-of-control head would look. He was not disappointed.

"Boy! You were gone for an hour and a half longer than normal today. It's ruddy dark outside! Explain yourself!" Vernon's face was positively glowing purple. Must've been another bad day with the drills.

"Sorry, sir. The lady who does detention, her car broke down while she was taking me back. We had to wait until we could get a repairman out there to fix it." He put on his best 'I'm an orphan, have pity sir!' face. He knew it'd piss Vernon off, but in a way he could direct. "I'm really, really sorry, please don't put me in the cupboard, sir. I've been in that little car all day and it was so cramped."

"No excuses boy! Off to the cupboard now, and no dinner! We'll discuss this later."

They never did discuss it later. Vernon had been satisfied with his excuse, but had to punish Harry somehow. Vernon was a steamroller of anger, but once he got his hands on the controls it wasn't that hard to direct him where he wanted. Harry closed the door to the cupboard and heard it lock from the outside with a click. His face shifted from scared child into gleeful treasure hunter, fresh from the best haul of his life. He peeled up the floorboard and began stuffing his food into it. He paused in the process and opened the box of snack cakes, unwrapping and popping one in his mouth. It was quite good, but nothing compared to the ice cream he'd had that day. Next were the books from the library. As if he was going to touch those anymore! He'd just drop them off next week and never go back. He didn't need a library anymore. He had magic.

He removed the colossal book he'd bought from Diagon Alley. He stared at it with a child-like gleam in his eye that came very rarely for the young Potter boy. He flipped it open and his mind was floored by how many types of magic there were. The table of contents was a short story in itself. Harry started to pore through it, but found his eyelids beginning to close before he got past the first page. A yawn escaped from his mouth before he could help it.

"Tomorrow, Harry. You can start tomorrow. It was a long day." He muttered to himself. "Tomorrow's a weekend. Once you're done with chores you'll be back in the cupboard and you can read all day." This thought comforted Harry as he drifted off into blissful sleep, his young body exhausted from the day's events. The last thing that crossed his mind was that he didn't regret coming in late a single bit. After all, what might have happened to him had he not passed by her house, late from his daily routine?

Who can say! Who indeed!


	3. Prologue 3: Ten Years Old

Chapter 3

**Prologue 3: Ten Years Old**

**September 1990**

"Damn it!"

Swearing was one habit magic hadn't changed in Harry's life. He was sorely tempted to slam his head against a tree like a woodpecker as he failed to cast the Supersensory Charm yet again. Harry had figured out months ago that the wand he was using was poorly suited for him, but he had no alternative. Stumbling across this one was fortuitous enough. Testing his luck again would be stupid.

The paranoia in his big mammal brain hadn't allowed him to return to Diagon Alley since his original trip last year, citing the high likelihood of being recognized and the fact that he was still busy learning from his unexpectedly tedious set of The Standard Book of Spells. He was on the fifth volume and knew he could have done better. Harry had taken a break altogether in the summer after learning the Confundus charm. He left the befuddled Dursleys nearly every day that summer to find food and play soccer down the way. They never did figure out what was going on. If Harry was good at anything so far with this damn screwy wand, it was Confounding.

An entire summer of potential magical learning wasted, wasted being a normal child. What kind of dilemma is that? "Harry, stop being content and start learning how to make things float with a stick!" Honestly, the nerve of some people.

But now that Harry and everyone else his age was back in school, there was little time to goof around. His routine was similar to before, but with a few necessary changes made to accommodate his new… lifestyle. The corner grocer was the same as always, except now Harry could take perishables with him. The temperature controlled compartment in his new backpack was a life saver. Hell, the entire thing was absolutely brilliant. Plenty of room to keep all his things in without having to dump them under the floorboards.

Harry still stopped by the library sometimes, mostly out of congenial respect for Miss Holcombe. She'd always been nice to him, a respect he hadn't had from anyone else in his life. Whether or not he was too stubborn to admit it, this affected him deeply. Although most of his reading these days was magical, Harry still found the time to read fun stories and such things.

Since Harry couldn't—or wouldn't—go back to Diagon Alley, he started improvising, taking care of his own magical needs with whatever jury-rigged contraption he could muster. Harry was most proud of a particular invention of his own that he'd come up with after fretting for months over a certain section in his Overview of Magic book…

**April 1990**

"Yes!" Harry cried. "About bloody time!"

Harry had been experimenting on his glasses for weeks without success. He'd even turned them into sunglasses at one point by accident and for a week he looked like a ridiculous, if badass, little boy. But finally Harry thought he was finished with what he'd been tinkering with day after day. He slipped his glasses on his face and…

"Just the same as before. Perfect! Just damn perfect! Yes!"

A thud on the door. "Keep it down in there boy! We're trying to enjoy dinner!"

"Sorry Uncle Vernon. I'll be quiet."

Harry didn't care. He'd mastered the Reflection Charm almost entirely for this purpose. Getting the Reflection Charm to bend to his will had been difficult, especially getting it to work two different ways on the same piece of glass. You see, Harry Potter had read about certain mind magic and was terrified of the idea that an older wizard could rip into his mind and extract all the information—his book would be compromised forever and he would be naked, exposed, vulnerable. Just like when he was a stupid, Muggle-born child, defenseless against the outside world. Nightmares of men peering into his eyes and gleaning all his secrets haunted him for a month after he found out about Legilimancy. That is, until he got to the Volume III of his Charms books. It hit him like a freight train.

'"Legilimancy works best when eye contact is made." That's what the book says. So, what if I can stop them from making eye contact without them knowing I stopped them?'

Considering how esoteric magic tends to be, it seemed rather ludicrous that such a simple idea would work. Nevertheless, in his free time Harry worked tirelessly on his glasses, casting all kinds of variants of the Reflection Charm until he finally perfected it: the two way mirror. It was rather simple, third year work really. But the way Harry applied it was utterly innovative.

He charmed the surface further from his face, the outer surface, with this new two way reflector and made it unaffected by other two way charms. Then he cast a second charm on the inner surface—another two way Reflection Charm. So when Harry donned his glasses and it looked just as usual, that meant it had worked brilliantly. When he looked through the inner surface, his eyes saw right through them and met the outer surface, which reflected back toward the inner, which from that direction reflected right back outward, this time bypassing the mirror because the charms didn't affect each other. Thus, Harry saw exactly as he did before, but through two mirrors instead of straight forward. Consequently, anyone looking at Harry's eyes through his glasses would look through the outer layer and to the inner layer, which reflected the outer layer which reflected back toward Harry, finally showing Harry's eyes.

This is what made Harry Potter so delightfully dangerous. He wasn't a particularly intelligent boy, nor was he a physical phenom, strikingly handsome, or even a hard worker. That thing Harry Potter had that he could do better than anyone else was improvise. Doing a lot with a little was Harry Potter's calling card. He defeated the greatest dark wizard of all time with the body of a one year old and a little handy magic from his mother. A mean feat by anyone's standards!

**September 1990**

As Harry Potter sat amidst a cluster of trees in a Surrey park under a Muggle Repellant Charm, his base instincts told him how great it would be to give up and take a nap, but his higher thinking pushed him on. 'Just five more minutes,' he thought, 'and I'll call it a day. Bloody Supersensory Charm.'

Harry tried it, rolling over the incantations, the motions, everything in his head perfectly. He'd tried it dozens of times, but suddenly on this attempt he put just a little more force into his swish and suddenly, his mind burst open into a cacophony of sounds and smells and images, pouring into his brain as every sense's power expanded fivefold—no, tenfold! He could hear bits of conversation, talk about relationship problems and feeding the pigeons and how many miles left to run today and… '"Harry Potter"? Me?'

Harry locked in on the voice and began to focus in on what was being said. "— and I'm sure I saw a boy with a scar like that around here somewhere. Like I said, I was just flying overhead when my magic detector started going haywire! I definitely sense a Muggle Repellent Charm in the area, near that little forest."

"I swear to Merlin if you're wrong about this I'll have your head! The Dark Lord has been gone for almost a decade! I've moved on! If this is some kind of joke, Nott…"

"I promise I saw a boy with a scar on his forehead, in the shape of a lightning bolt! Avery, you know that if he ever returns, we shall be rewarded greatly!"

"If he doesn't? What then? What if the Dark Lord is gone, never to return?"

The man called Nott grimaced. "Then we leave and no one is the wiser! I've checked for other wizards in the area and I've found nothing. We can at least check it out."

"Fine. But I have work to do, so don't waste my time any longer than it has been. If the boy is there, I will find him. _Serpensortia_!" Several vicious snakes erupted from the tip of his wand and began to slither toward the copse where Harry was located. "You sweep the perimeter, I'll look from above and the snakes will tell us if he is within. If Potter is here, we will find him and we will take care of what should have been taken care of nine years ago."

Harry's eyes went wide with the last remark. "They're going to **kill** me," he said aloud. "Bugger! What am I going to do? Shit! Shit! Oh bollocks! Get a hold of yourself!"

Harry took a deep, gasping breath and paused to think. He could hear the snakes slithering closer to his position and knew they were only about a hundred and fifty feet away. He was running out of time very quickly. He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and looked up at the tree he had been sitting under, then pointed his wand at a branch he'd been sitting under and cast the Growth Charm. It wobbled a bit for a second, but then began growing rapidly. Harry jumped onto it as it rose higher and higher into the air, eventually placing him near the top of the tree. Harry ducked into some shrubbery in the branches and waited with trepidation. He could hear a few of the snakes slithering somewhat near him, but none were close enough that he thought he'd be found.

"Ssssooo, there is a boy here." Harry nearly fell off his branch as he whirled around and leveled his wand. Sitting beside him was a full grown cobra, baring its fangs at him. It had snuck up on him using its absolute stealth. "The ssssumoner will be pleasssed that I have found you." Just great! Now the snake was **talking**.

'Bugger! Snakes hunt with their sense of smell! What the hell was I thinking with that Disillusionment Charm?' Harry berated. "Bloody hell! I'm screwed, I'm screwed! Once that man finds me here, I'm finished! Don't tell him you stupid bastard!"

The snake had already begun slithering back down the tree when it turned around and hissed violently, "You! You sssspeak our language!"

Harry looked down at the snake, which was already making its way back up to his branch. "Uh… yeah, I suppose I do. So, does this mean you won't tell that man that you found me?"

The snake paused. "You do not underssstand. He is the ssssummoner and that isss what he wissshes me to do. Ssstill, it has been some time since any of my kind hasss met one who sssspeaksss our tongue."

Harry looked with imploring eyes at the scaly reptile that sat, talking in front of him. Talking! Magic is crazy. "Look here snake. If the man who sent you finds out I'm here, he'll kill me. That's for sure. If that happens, none of the snakes will ever have a human to talk to again, because I'll be bloody dead! So let me go unseen and afterwards we'll figure this out, all right? I swear it."

The snake looked at him contemplatively. Harry stared it back down, pouring all his intensity into the look it was giving him. If this stupid thing didn't listen to him, he was going to have to kill it, or at least try. A fight with two grown wizards? Harry didn't know much about magic, but he didn't like those odds. "If you ssso ssswear." With that, the snake slithered away.

Harry's heart was pounding in his chest. 'Oh bloody hell! That was close. But what if the snake was lying? I could be dead and no one would ever know. Bugger, all I can do is wait! I can still hear the man overhead on a broom talking to himself and the other man is staking out. Wandering away would just give my position up.' Harry sighed. 'Who the hell are these guys? They sound like Voldemort's people. I thought the slimy bastard was dead! If they find me I'm done for, all I know are bloody charms!'

So Harry waited. And waited. And waited still more. His Supersensory Charm was wearing off and he was considering risking activating it again when he heard a shout.

"You ass! You stupid, monumental ass!"

"I swear I saw him here, I swear Avery. Please, just let it be."

"Do not ever talk to me again! The only time I will ever tolerate being anywhere near you is if the Dark bloody Lord came back, and we both know that won't happen. Never again!"

The man disappeared with a pop.

The other man sighed, then looked at the snakes Avery had left behind.

"You fuckers. I know he was here. You should have found him! _Reducto_!" With a sickening blast, the snakes were obliterated in a shower of gore. With a sigh, the man named Nott popped away too.

"Holy! Bugger!"

.

.

It took Harry a good hour to stop shaking properly. He'd taken down the Muggle Repellant Charm and gotten out as soon as the other man had disappeared. 'That's another matter entirely,' Harry thought. 'I need to find out how to do that. They just disappeared! Wouldn't that be bloody convenient to get out of another mess like that or what?'

'Another mess like that…' Harry mulled over the phrase. 'What if that happens again? What if I'm attacked again? They know where I live now! This is just too dangerous.'

When Harry got home, he began the plans for his most monumental project yet. The glasses had been a little sideshow, sure, but this time Harry was motivated. His book taught him that survival was the number one goal and that goal was officially being threatened. "Death Eaters…" he murmured, as he began sketching out plans that he would continue to work out all through September. He was making the ultimate emergency escape strategy.

Harry began to bewitch his cupboard door into a miniature fortress. The door, if not opened with the right charms, would erupt with a barrage of charms work. The door itself was protected by an Unbreakable Charm and any unwanted attempts to open it would unleash a Freezing Charm, Severing Charm, and a Confundus Charm on anyone who tried to do so. It took him nearly three weeks of painful, tiring work to finish this project, but the end result was that his room impregnable to anyone who didn't know the code. As it turns out, the code was simply a Colour Changing Charm to black and then back to the original.

Harry wasn't exactly the next incarnation of Alan Turing.

.

.

**June 1991**

Busy, busy, busy. Even with school over, Harry Potter couldn't get away from his work. The Dursleys worked him harder than ever, making all the charms he'd learned even more valuable. He used a modified talon-clipping charm to trim hedges, cleaned dishes with a whisper of _Scourgify_, and pacified his adoptive family with a Cheering Charm. Harry was happy with where he was in life. He was a little boy of ten years without a care in the world and real magic at his fingertips. His relatives might be jackasses, but they left him alone now that his magic was affecting them on an almost daily basis. Harry always kept a finger on his wand and was very careful to conceal its usage. Harry had gotten his casting voice down to low whispers, meaning that while the Dursleys were having dessert, Harry could _Scourgify_ the dishes without being noticed.

Yes, life was good. Until a little surprise came in the mail. Vernon yelled at Harry to fetch it, as usual. The damn billy goat was gnawing on his food and buttering up his fine Smeltings-bound son. They were sending him away soon too, to Stonewall Academy, but Harry was okay with that. He could protect himself there, with his magic, and get whatever he wanted. It would be just fine. Until he picked up the letter in the mail addressed to… him. He quickly stuffed the letter in his pocket, gave the rest of the mail to Vernon, and rushed into his cupboard. He tore open the letter and found…

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? What the hell?" You see, Harry had been studying on and off, but he hadn't learned the slightest thing about the magical world. He was in once and got out as soon as he could. He had no interest in any of it other than to make his own life with the Dursleys easier. If Harry had any idea what was waiting for him in the magical world, he would have gotten the hell away as soon as he could. He had studied a bit on his own, but had no idea what the wizarding world was like outside of Diagon Alley. He would find out soon.

Harry skimmed over the letter. It sounded nice, but he could always go to the Alley if he ever needed to once he learned the Glamour charm. 'It just had to be a high-level spell didn't it?' Harry crumpled his letter and shoved it in his backpack. Going to Stonewall in Dudley's old clothes wasn't exactly his idea of a good time, but better that than get killed by more of those men from the park. Harry knew that the magical world was nothing but danger and trouble and if he could stay away from those magical people, it would significantly improve his odds of survival. Survival. That's what his book was all about. Staying alive and even a little happy.

Harry didn't understand how tenacious wizards are about keeping their own kind.

.

.

**July 1991**

It was just another leisurely day for Harry Potter. He'd gone to play soccer with some of the boys in Little Whinging down at the public pitch, but they'd been rained out by a nasty thunderstorm and Harry had gone home early in the afternoon. He spent the rest of the day continuing to work on his Glamour charms, which had been getting progressively better in the past month or two. 'I'll definitely go to Diagon Alley soon,' he thought. 'Once I can hide this bloody scar I'll be home free to do whatever I want!'

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Harry frowned. 'Usually people don't come by this time of day. Vernon is still at work and Dudley is at his friend's house. Ah well.' He went back to alternating reading the last volume of his books and practicing the spells. He'd gotten several things to change about himself, such as his skin color, but the damn scar always stayed the same. The knocking got more raucous and Harry gave a sigh. 'Bloody door-to-doors need to keep quiet while I'm fiddling around.' Suddenly the door opened with a bang and Harry heard Petunia give a shriek.

"I've been knocking all ruddy day! Now answer me, where is Harry Potter?"

Harry's heart leapt into his throat. He peeked out the door of his cupboard and quickly slammed it after seeing… him. A huge man with a mass of brown hair all over his head and a gargantuan beard, wielding what looked like a pink umbrella. Harry wasn't fooled. The thing was too small to cover such a large man, it had to be a wand! That means…

"They've come for me," he whispered.

"You will not take that boy and teach him any freakishness! I forbid it!" Harry heard Petunia yell back at the man. "He will stay locked in the cupboard and that is final!

Harry paled. She'd just told him where he was! That bloody fool! He roughly shoved everything into his pack and began to run over his escape plan. Once the huge man tried to open the door he'd be hit by the enchantments and Harry could burst out and flee… to where? Harry didn't know. There wasn't enough time, he had to—

The door began to open. There was a shriek from a woman and a roar of confusion from a man. Suddenly, a wiry boy dashed out from the tiny enclosement and was out the front door before either of the two people in the house had any idea what was happening. As Harry bolted away, he heard the overgrown man mutter to himself, "My umbrella must be worse off than I thought. It almost seemed like that door was enchanted." Harry smiled at that. The Confundus charm had done its job and meant the man had no idea he could do magic. Harry's smile disappeared when he thought on how poorly his other enchantments had worked. The man had seemed to shrug them off as if they were nothing.

Shaking off his idle thoughts, Harry dashed down the road to the spot he'd prepared for this very moment: a house for sale on the next street over. He dashed inside and slumped down under the kitchen counter and rifled through his pack. 'Junk, junk, junk… got it!' Harry yanked his old Cleansweep Five out and mounted it. He yelled "Up!" and nearly hit his head on the ceiling. Harry had given his broom a go a few times late at night, but he still wasn't too adept of a flier. He cast a quick Muggle Repellant charm on himself, raised the window with a wave of his wand and a yell of "_Wingardium Leviosa_", and rocketed out the window and into the sky. Harry grimaced as the rain slammed against his face like little pellets at the speed he was going. The Muggle Repellant charm wouldn't make him invisible, but the skies were clouded and stormy enough that it would conceal him decently.

Harry began to breathe a bit easier until he realized he had nowhere to go. A quick, but risky sweep of his house showed the huge man staggering out the door, clearly still a little dazed. Harry grunted and sped away, looking for a poorly illuminated area. About a mile later he found a fancy suburban neighborhood—under construction. The workers had apparently all gone home early that day because of the rain. Harry landed and hid inside one of the more complete houses to get out of the rain and contemplated his options. He was on the run from evil wizards trying to kill him, just marvelous. He was running out of options. He would have to go back to Diagon Alley.

.

.

Harry thought he looked good enough. His now auburn brown hair drooped well over his scar, concealing it from the people he knew would love to kill him for it. He was also a much darker shade of brown and resembled someone from Africa more than a boy from the middle of England. He sent up the usual sparks into the air and in a matter of minutes he heard the "BANG!" of the Knight Bus arriving. Harry grinned and stepped on.

"Hey kid! What're you doing on the bus all by yourself?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. Too many questions that needed answers he didn't want to give. "My mum and dad are at Diagon Alley, I'm supposed to meet them at the Leaky Cauldron. I've got money, here!" Harry dropped a Galleon in front of the man. "A little extra, for your patience and a hot chocolate if you don't mind."

The driver's eyes went wide a little at the generous tip, at which Harry smiled. 'Money greases the wheels of commerce again.' The man tipped his hat to Harry and he went to sit at the back of the bus as it took off with another "BANG!"

Harry sat and sipped on his hot chocolate. 'I don't think I can go back home if some dark wizard is trying to kill me. I have all my possessions here with me anyway. All the clothes I've gotten since I tossed Dudley's old things, my books, my broom, and most importantly my life. I've still got a few hundred pounds from when I started using _Alohamora_ for… extracurricular purposes. I can survive for a while in the wizarding world until I figure out what to do.'

"Everyone for the Leaky Cauldron!"

Harry smiled and thanked the driver, who introduced himself as Stan Shunpike. "Hope you find your parents soon kid!"

Harry grinned at him as he frowned inwardly. 'I'll never find them, thanks to Voldemort. Not like the Dursleys count.' He stepped off the bus and into the tavern. As he did so, he heard a familiar wailing sound. Harry's eyes went wide as he recognized the source of the sound. 'It's **him.**'

"The usual, Hagrid?"

The huge man—Hagrid—sighed and responded to the barkeeper "Aye, I suppose it can't do any harm, Tom. Not when I've already made a mighty mess o' things." Harry crept closer as the man began to quiet down a bit. Maybe he could figure out what was going on if he listened in. "All I were supposed to do is pick up Harry and help him get his Hogwarts supplies. But when I came in, that harpy o' a woman, Dursley, she screamed at me and… I don't rightly know what happened, it were still a blur, but when I looked for Harry he were gone! It's all me fault!" Hagrid began to wail again. "Dumbledore trusted me to take care of this and I failed him!"

Harry frowned. 'Okay, maybe he's not trying to kill me. Still, if there are even bloody more magical people looking for me, I'd rather go with the ones who aren't trying to off me when I'm not paying attention. Let's try something here…'

Harry dispelled the glamour on himself and put on his best crocodile tears. He sucked in and pursed his lips as tight as they could go, jumped in the air, and released it with an extremely loud "POP". He fell… right in front of Hagrid.

"Whuh-where am I?"

"Harry!"

Harry looked up at Hagrid with tears in his eyes. The confused and scared look on his face had Hagrid staring down at him with the utmost concern.

"What's happened? I got scared and ran from my house when my aunt yelled at me and all I could think was how much I wanted to be safe and I just appeared here! Who are you?"

"Oh Harry, I'm so glad you're safe! You've got a lot to learn…"

Harry just smiled.


	4. Prologue 4: The Summer Before Hogwarts

Chapter 4

**Prologue 4: The Summer Before Hogwarts**

**July 1991**

Harry gazed up inquisitively at the man who had tried to kidnap him from his adoptive family before he even explained that he was taking him to get school supplies. 'Not the brightest chap out there,' Harry thought, 'but he's a decent enough bloke I guess. Wish he'd stop talking about all this bollocks I don't care about, though. And now he looks like he's going to vomit, great. I knew this cart was a bad idea.'

After writing to Dumbledore that Harry had a bout of accidental magic that Disapparated him to the Leaky Cauldron, Hagrid had taken him to Gringotts, where he found out he had a sizable account left to him by his parents. Not that anyone gave a damn that they were dead; everyone at the bar was too busy talking about him, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived! 'I can't even **remember** any of the things that happened back then. Why do they care so much?'

The cart finally stopped. Harry stepped out with Hagrid and the goblin—Griphook. When they stepped into the vault his jaw dropped. Galleons everywhere! Enough to buy all the magical things he needed!

"Aye Harry, this is your parents' vault. Good people they were, from a decent family at that. They made sure to leave you with plenty of money fer your school things. I'll just take a couple bags here and we'll be off!"

Harry was only half listening. 'Just a couple bags? Not on my life.' Harry began piling gold into his backpack. He stuffed his money compartment with 150 Galleons and surreptitiously closed it and turned to Hagrid with a grin on his face. "Great, let's go!"

They made their way to the second vault of the day, Vault 713, which apparently had some kind of secret Hogwarts business locked inside of it. Harry wondered what it could be. Some kind of dangerous creature? A magical artifact? Something weirdly unassuming? Harry looked inside the vault and all he saw inside was… a brown paper bag?

Weirdly unassuming it is.

Hagrid grabbed it and once they got out of Gringotts he excused himself because of the mounting nausea. Harry didn't really feel like being vomited on by what he found out was a half-giant, so he ran off like Hagrid told him to for his set of Hogwarts clothes. He walked into Madam Malkin's and let her begin to fit him. There was another boy, pale as snow, being fitted by Madam Malkin's assistant. The other boy stared at him. "Are you going to Hogwarts too?"

Harry gave him a once over. His beady eyes made him look like a sly, mischievous boy, whereas Harry's bright green eyes gave him an innocent, precocious look. The rather controlled manner in which boy's straw-like hair swept over his face and his regal posture would have made him look dignified were it not for those eyes. The eyes that looked like they held a thousand plots behind them. Harry met them with his own.

"Yeah, I am. Is this your first year too?"

The other boy looked at Harry appraisingly. "Of course. That's why I'm getting new robes. My mother and father are out getting some of my other school things. I'm going to bring my father to the broom shop and get him to buy me one. The first years aren't allowed to have one, but I bet I can sneak it in. I'm going to play on the Quidditch team when I'm old enough. Do you play?"

Yip yip yip yip.

Harry shrugged and gave a non-committal answer. Never show your gaps. "Nah. I might when I'm older though." Harry probed for more information. "What are you looking forward to most at Hogwarts?"

The other boy actually gave a quite thoughtful look. "I suppose seeing which house I'm sorted into. **I **know I'll be in Slytherin, just like my father and mother. I couldn't imagine being in Hufflepuff. I'd rather transfer to Durmstrang than be in that filthy, lazy house. What about you?"

All the jargon was really throwing Harry off and he wasn't sure what to make of it, so he gave another nonchalant shrug. "Not sure myself." Harry paused, but recognized that the boy seemed more about himself than the average kid his age. Maybe he wanted to be on his good side. "Definitely not Hufflepuff though, I know what you mean. At least the others have something good to say about them."

Draco's eyes lit up at this. "You're absolutely right. Slytherin is the best of course. Ravenclaws might be a bunch of dorks, but they're at least smart. And Gryffindor… well, Gryffindor isn't much to speak of, but if they aim to be Slytherin's rivals like they always do, they should have to produce a good wizard now and then, I think. Don't you think so?"

Harry nodded. "Sounds about right."

Harry followed Draco's eyes—those convoluted eyes—out the window and saw where he was looking. Hagrid stood outside with ice cream. 'From what I remember, looks like Fortescue's work. Bloody good ice cream, it is! Suppose Hagrid can't come in with it though.'

"You see that oaf standing outside?"

"That's Hagrid. He's the gamekeeper at Hogwarts."

"Father told me about him. He told me that he's some kind of primitive man who lives on the grounds and can't do magic for anything."

'Daddy problems much?' Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know him. He's a bit of an oaf like you said, but a decent fellow."

Draco narrowed his suspicious eyes at Harry. "Why is that fat savage here with you anyway? Why aren't your parents with you?"

"They're dead. You know, the whole Voldemort thing. It's kind of a big deal, or so I've heard. Hagrid's taking me around instead. My parents might have a difficult time of it, what with them being in their graves and all."

Harry had gauged him right. That statement had a devastating impact on the veneer the boy had put up. His jaw dropped to the ground. Harry smirked as he watched him put the pieces together and brushed his hair away from his face, revealing his forehead.

"You're-you're him! I-I… my name is Draco Malfoy, it's-it's a pleasure… Harry Potter!"

Harry smiled. This was his chance to take control of the first impression. "The one and only. You might not like Hagrid, but he's doing me a bit of a favor here considering my parents are indisposed. Do you support Voldemort? I wouldn't want to have the first friend I make from Hogwarts be a fan of the man who killed my parents."

Draco blanched. From the expression on his face, Harry had a feeling he (or at least his parents) was indeed a supporter of the Dark Lord. But Harry had put him on the back foot now.

"It's not like I was around when he was anyway! I don't even know where to start, really. And don't say his name like it's nothing!"

"So what are you saying? You either do support murdering people like my mum and dad or you don't. I'm sure you can understand where I'm coming from. I've never gotten to meet my parents because of Voldemort. Could you imagine if that happened to your parents? It sounds rather dreadful, don't you agree?"

Draco was shaking at this point. Harry smiled at him innocently, but he knew exactly what he was doing. It wouldn't gain him too many brownie points, but that's not what he was looking for here. Draco was shifty enough to be frightening and had triggered Harry's survival reflexes. If he couldn't win him over—which was looking less and less likely considering how pompous this Draco chap was—then he would make himself an impregnable fortress.

"I…I-I suppose so."

Draco was saved by the bell. "Okay dearie, you're all done!"

"Th-thanks. See you later, Potter." With that, Draco hurriedly walked out the door and once he was out, he practically ran down to the book store. Harry grinned at this. He was doing better than he thought.

"Okay son, I've finished! Here are your robes."

Harry smiled brilliantly at her. "Thanks Madam Malkin! I already paid, hope you don't mind. 'Bye!"

He walked outside to meet Hagrid. "Aye Harry, glad to see you're all done. Let's go get your books now." Harry smiled at that. He'd been to Flourish and Blotts before, with a significantly smaller budget. This time, Harry was going to make the most of his time.

"Hagrid, we're running late because of what happened earlier today. What say you go to the Apothecary and I'll take the booklist to the Flourish and Blotts and we meet up later."

Hagrid stopped and paused at this. His full face wrinkled as he considered Harry's proposal. "I guess that be a good idea. We'll meet at Eeylops in half an hour—that's the Owl Shop. How's that fer you?"

Harry gave him his best, most precocious smile. "Sounds great! See you in a bit, Hagrid." Harry's smile was something of note. Such as small thing, but Harry's smile was disarming. Just a flash of his brilliant teeth—well maintained once he broke free from the Dursleys—had a way of setting people at ease. His status as the Boy-Who-Lived certainly helped, but Harry had his own personal magnetism that was simply a natural charm. It wasn't something that can be learned.

Harry had not neglected his own appearance in the last few years. One of the things he learned from his book was the critical importance of first impressions. People make instant gut decisions based on how a person is dressed very frequently. That's why Harry had prepaid at Madam Malkin's, along with a generous tip. The extra attention acquired with a small gratuity got Harry better fit, more natural looking robes. His Muggle clothes hadn't been Dudley's hand-me-downs for years either, as Harry had gone "shopping" numerous times and pilfered all kinds of articles. Once he learned the Confundus charm and began Confounding the electronic, barcode-based security systems (the fact that he could even do that greatly amused Harry), it got even easier.

But that's not very interesting. Not when there's magic afoot! Who really wants to read Harry Potter and the Great Clothes Shopping Excursion?

Who can say! Who indeed!

Harry began ransacking the book store. With only half an hour to search, Harry bought his school books quickly and began buying up all the books that looked even mildly interesting. He was especially interested in books on jinxes, as he'd never learned any combat magic—any magic other than Charms, for that matter. Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed, Curses and Counter-Curses, Self-Defensive Spellwork… Harry grabbed anything that had grabbed him and his fancy. Books on Transfiguration, Potions… even cooking! Bloody magical cookbooks! Those were Harry's favorites. The books on learning had exciting titles, but flipping through them bored him to tears sometimes. Cooking was something he was already practiced at, something he enjoyed. Those would be the books he hit first.

Harry checked the time. "Bugger," he muttered, "I'm late. I suppose I should get some background on this barmy as hell world." Harry grabbed a few dull-looking historical texts, such as Hogwarts, A History and Modern Magical History. Feeling like a bit of a dork, Harry checked to see if anyone was paying attention and magically snuck the huge pile of books to the counter. The cashier raised an eyebrow at all the books, but just shrugged. "Bloody Ravenclaws…"

Just as Harry stowed his books into his backpack, Hagrid walked in the store. "Aye Harry! I've been waiting for ye at the Owl Emporium for an eternity! You got yer books yet?"

"Just now sir, I put them in my pack." Harry nearly smacked himself. He'd never explained that one. "I got it before I went to Madam Malkin's, hope you don't mind Hagrid. You aren't mad, are you?"

Harry knew Hagrid was sensitive to any references to the Dursleys and knew that would be interpreted as fear of a Vernon beating. "Nah, nah Harry! It's fine, really, no harm done, none at all…" Hagrid was carrying a curiously shaped, cloth covered package he hadn't been holding before."

"Hagrid, what's it you're holding there?"

Hagrid gave him a little wink. "Harry, this here be your birthday present! I got it while you were takin' your time in here. Give 'er a look!" Hagrid took the cover off to reveal a snowy owl—you know who it is, of course. "It's for yer birthday, Harry. Happy birthday! Better than anything those Muggles ever got you, eh?"

The last stop: Ollivander's.

Harry went through the gauntlet of wands until finally arriving at his own: Voldemorts' brother. When Harry gripped the wand, it was electric. Absolutely nothing like the wand he'd taken from the Jones'. Harry immediately felt the power surging through him into the wand and course right back through him. This was magic, this was energy. It made everything he'd done the past two years feel almost like a waste of time. He knew this was destined to be his tool to make himself stronger, better… safer.

"Safe..." Harry whispered

"Wha' was tha' Harry?"

"Ah, nothing Hagrid. Just trying out my new wand real quick. I'll try something basic. _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The box that had contained the wand—**his** wand—rocketed up and slammed into the ceiling with a crash. The box crumpled and broke at the seams and collapsed to the floor as Harry, startled, released the charm. Harry jumped backwards in shock and mumbled an apology. He wasn't sorry at all. He was thrilled. 'Bloody hell! I put almost no power into that, just enough to make it hover a couple inches with my old wand. This is absolutely **brilliant**. All the things I could do with this wand…'

"You all right 'arry?"

"Y-yeah, sorry Hagrid. Sorry about the box Mr. Ollivander."

"Quite all right my boy. You seem to be quite a natural! Do better things with it than its brother has done."

Harry nodded quite seriously. No child would lose parents to his wand.

They left through the Leaky Cauldron and, after eating dinner, parted ways. Hagrid left Harry at the train station, but Harry simply called the Knight Bus and got home in a tenth of the time. "What kind of man leaves a ten year old at the train by himself in the early evening?" Harry muttered. "These people are bloody absurd, I swear."

The owl he held hooted in protest to his statement.

"Eleven. I would've forgotten if not for you, little owl." The owl gave an indignant peck at being called little. "Ow! You wanker!" Harry smiled in spite of himself—he didn't know what wanker even meant, just that it was derogatory. He continued skimming through one of his magical history books. "Hey, here's a name for you! How's Hedwig sound?"

Now-Hedwig gave his assent.

.

* * *

.

**1 September 1991**

Harry had been waiting for this day for the past month. He'd wanted to reseal his room from intruders, but Hagrid had told him about the underage tracer placed on his home now that he had a wand. So yes, he knew he couldn't do magic. The funny thing was that the Dursleys somehow hadn't been informed. Harry had let them know he was going to keep going out to play soccer with his friends and if they tried to stop him… abra cadabra! That had gotten them in lockstep. Harry grinned to himself. "Muggles are so easy to mess with."

His grin vanished. "Am I already thinking like that Hedwig? Like that Draco boy?" Hedwig hooted at him. "That wasn't much help. Not sure what I expected. I even sent him an owl. You sure you delivered it?" Hedwig nodded. "Must be too scared to send a reply. Can't say I feel sorry for him, he acts the ass almost nonstop. Just trying to keep my options open, y'know?" Hedwig hooted again. "Why am I even talking to you? It's the same as talking out loud. Magic is making me all barmy."

Without the ability to do magic, Harry had read through his wizarding world history books. He was surprised to find that they were the most interesting books he'd bought. The ones with fun titles about curses and such ended up being very esoteric, but the historical texts brimmed with stories about heroes and villains and dark lords not unlike the one he'd offed. Grindelwald had especially fascinated him. Apparently Dumbledore—the Headmaster and Hagrid's… friend? Or something—had defeated him.

"That must make him the most powerful wizard in the world." Harry had said at the time. "Bloody hell, he's said to be the best dueler, Legilimancer, transfiguration master, he even knows alchemy, and all those titles! What a scary sounding fellow."

Harry hadn't been able to progress in practical magic in the month since going to the Alley, but he'd certainly brushed up on his knowledge of the world. Of particular interest to him was the dichotomy between the purebloods and… well, everyone else. "That Draco kid must have been one of these. What a wanker! I don't have the time to deal with these people who are trying to kill me."

The incident in the park had ingrained itself in Harry's mind. He was deeply suspicious of people who seemed to be aligned with the Dark Lord. It's completely understandable! A ten year old assaulted by two grown adults and a bloody snake in the middle of a public park? That'd scar anyone. Even you. Don't even deny it.

Harry slipped his pack on and jogged downstairs. His aunt and uncle scowled at him, as they were wont to do. "Where are you going boy?"

"School of course, Uncle Vernon! I go to the Kings Cross station in London to take the train. Aren't you excited! I sure am!" Harry gleefully added the overenthusiastic inflection he knew would rile up Vernon.

"The only thing I'm excited about is you and your freakiness leaving the house!" Vernon's face contorted, then he frowned. "Boy, you didn't ask us to take you to King's Cross. What's your game here? How are you getting all the way to London?"

Harry smiled and made for the door. He opened it, turned around and grinned at Vernon, "Magic!" and ran out. As he slammed the door behind him, he heard Vernon roar with anger. Harry ran off to the under-construction neighborhood and called the Knight Bus, which showed up soon with its usual "BANG!"

"Hey Stan! How's the route going?"

"Fine thanks, but bloody—er quite crowded with Kings Cross people. I guess you're one too, eh?"

Harry grinned. "Of course! Let's make it quick, I want a good seat on the train."

"That's the only speed I've got!"

BANG!

.

* * *

.

Harry stepped off the bus with his usual grin. Life was good! He still had plenty of time to get on the Hogwarts train. He walked into the Kings Cross station and looked for Platform 9 3/4. As you might imagine, he couldn't find it. Harry started getting frustrated and looked around, muttering to himself. "If this is like Diagon Alley and no one explained it to me, I am going to be pissed…" Harry began looking for wizarding families in the crowd and found his target: an army of redheaded children with a clearly magical owl resting on the mother's shoulder.

"Now now kids, settle down. Percy, go first, so Ron can see how you do it." Harry's name wasn't Ron, but he didn't mind adding his own glance along. He watched with curiosity as the older redhead ran straight on toward a wall between Platforms 9 and 10 and simply disappeared. Harry rolled his eyes. 'Typical wizard bollocks. But was there a trick to it?'

"Fred, go ahead dear."

"Mum' I'm not Fred, I'm George," the next boy said.

"Oh! Sorry George!"

"Just kidding, it's Fred," and with that the boy took off running at the wall. Harry watched for a trick and saw nothing. The boy just disappeared through the brick, his twin following right after him. Harry shrugged and gave it a shot himself. He was going to feel really stupid if this didn't work.

But of course, it did.

Harry emerged on Platform 9 3/4. The platform was a type of gaudy typical for wizards, with a giant bright red train puffing smoke next to the station. He stared with childlike wonder at the sight before him before shrugging it off and hopping aboard with his pack on his back. He saw a girl struggling with her own trunk and Harry walked over to her. "Couldn't hurt," he muttered.

"Here, let me help you with that." Harry cast a Featherweight Charm on her trunk and hefted it onto the train. "Man, this thing is still heavy! Did you pack rocks in here or what?"

The girl gave him an irritated look. Bushy-haired, big front teeth, brown eyes. You get the idea. "You aren't supposed to do magic outside of Hogwarts. Thanks anyway, I suppose. And no, I did not pack rocks. Just my books."

"Then you must have an entire bloody library in there!" Harry smiled at her. His smile, the one that could talk an ass into walking up and down Everest with no complaint. "I don't mean to be rude, sorry. My name's Harry. Harry Potter."

She gave him the same look he was used to getting now. "Harry Potter! I've read all about yip yip yip yip."

'Oh god, already? That was record time. This one is a doozy.'

"Really, it's okay, you don't have to read about me you know. You could always get to know me, the real me." With that many books, Harry figured she was a bit of a bookworm. If she was like any other Muggle bookworm—she had to read about Harry to know who he was, after all—then he knew just where to hit. "Unless you don't want to be my friend, of course. I would have liked that."

The poor girl blanched. Harry smiled, but this was not a righteous smile. It was a surreptitious, "gotcha!" smile, not a congenial gesture of friendship. The smile of a shark. "N-no, that wasn't… I didn't mean… I'm terribly sorry, I'm a mess aren't I?" Her face was already flushed with embarrassment. She stuck her hand out forcibly. It was shaking. "I-I'm Hermione Granger. It's g-good to meet you, Harry Potter."

He shook her hand with his and grabbed her arm with his other and stopped the shaking. "Please, just Harry. You don't have to shake like that, you know." Harry grinned, then leaned in closer to whisper in her ear. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm a kid just like you and the rest. I'm not a superhero. Can you keep that a secret?"

He backed away to see the result of his work. 'Haha! Her face is redder than Jupiter's spot!' Harry had grown to love flustering other people, especially girls. It was simple, and it always gave him a sense of power he could never get from casting a spell, even with his new wand.

"O-o-o-okay, y-yeah. I can… I will… Oh, I'm just making myself look like a fool!" Tears began brimming to her eyes and she looked like she was about to run off. Harry quickly reached out and grabbed her arm again.

"Relax! Let's find an empty compartment and get situated."

"A-a-an em-empty…?"

"Sure! We can meet lots of new people and get to know each other in there. Wouldn't that be nice?"

The look on her face belied the fact that she thought something entirely different was about to happen. Harry couldn't help but grin at that. "Yes. Of course. That'd be just fine." She was still recovering, the color on her face dimming and her eyes clearing of the bleary tears of embarrassment that had begun to form.

"Great! Come on, I'll take your trunk."

Harry was practically giddy on the inside. 'This is so much fun! She at least seems to be smart. She really reminds me of Miss Holcombe. Maybe I can make her my librarian or something.'

Harry found an empty compartment and sat her and her trunk down inside. Just as he'd done so, a pudgy looking boy burst into the compartment. Harry narrowed his eyes with suspicion. The boy reminded him almost as much of Dudley as Draco did, but in a completely different way. His fears were relieved as soon as the boy opened his mouth. No one with a voice like that could be anything like Dudley. It came out like a nervous squeak of someone who'd never been loved by anyone who didn't always have a rod in their hand.

"H-have either of you seen my toad? I've been looking for it for ages now. It always seems to get away."

Harry shrugged. "Sorry mate, we just got on the train."

"Oh, okay, thanks…" The boy turned to walk away, but Harry saw something that made him reconsider.

"Wait!"

The boy turned around. "Y-yeah?"

"I'm a first-year, like you right? What's your name?"

"I'm Neville Longbottom. My toad was a gift from my Gran, she'll kill me if I lost it."

Harry looked at him with a thoughtful pose. "Well Neville Longbottom with a Gran who gives toads, let's see if I can't help you out. Have you tried summoning it?"

Neville shuffled awkwardly at the last bit. "Summoning? I'm not sure what you mean?"

Hermione looked as if she were about to say something, but Harry cut her off with—"_Accio Neville's toad,_" in a cool tone. Four seconds went by awkwardly before…

Whop!

Neville's toad plopped into Harry's hand.

"Trevor! You have to stop running away like that!" He turned to Harry, "T-thanks for that…"

Hermione looked at Harry with more than a bit of awe. "That was the Summoning charm! That's a fourth year spell! How come you can cast it if you're just a first year?"

Harry gave her a mock condescending look. "Because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, of course!" She gave him what was supposed to be an irritated scowl, but came out as a rather star-struck look, but he grinned and amended himself, "I'm only joking. I just happen to be a natural at Charms. It happens sometimes, you know? Just like you're a natural at reading every book you get your hands on. Am I right?"

She flushed again. "Just because I like to learn doesn't mean you can poke fun at me!"

"Oh, I wasn't! But it is true, you know." He stuck his hand out to the boy with the toad. "Sorry I'm not so good at transfiguration, or I'd make you a cage for your toad. Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter! Oh, Gran's told me all about you."

"I'm sure she has. Now that you've got your toad, you can sit with us if you like. This compartment is plenty big."

Neville's lip twitched awkwardly into a little smile. "A-all right. Thanks again, Harry."

Harry looked carefully at Neville. There wasn't much to the boy at first glance. He seemed shy and weak, but there was something about him Harry could see, a something completely different from the something he saw in Hermione. The boy seemed to radiate magical… something. It wasn't power, more of a force, even despite his clumsiness. Harry wasn't going to waste what was an otherwise irritating fame. The more useful people he gathered around himself, the more people who would get hit before he did by the dark wizards trying to kill him.

Who can really blame him?

Several minutes of idle chatter went by before a rush of blonde hair swept into the room. Harry caught him before he could say anything.

"Draco Malfoy. You never responded to my owl, Draco. That wasn't very nice! I thought we could be friends."

"Well, I—"

"No Draco, forget it." Harry started flexing what he'd learned about the magical world. "Ignoring an owl from a new acquaintance is terribly rude. I'll talk to you, but only after you've replied to my owl. Don't you think that's fair?"

Draco's jaw alternated between ground floor and locked shut. "I-I… Yes, later!"

Just like that, Draco was gone again. Harry chuckled. 'Talking to a pureblood supremacist around a Muggleborn and a simpering kid like Neville probably isn't the best impression I could make. I'll let him simmer for a while. At worst, it's still really funny.'

Hermione looked at Harry with a mix of bewilderment and "I can't believe you said that!". "Do you know him?"

"Yeah, that's Draco Malfoy. He's a bit of a git, but there's hope for him yet. He's from a big wizarding family, which means he's probably supposed to show proper etiquette to other wizards. I'm not sure if it was an offense or anything, but he ignored the owl I sent him after meeting him in Diagon Alley." Harry grinned. "I couldn't just let him off the hook that easily! I'll talk it over with him later, don't worry."

This seemed to satisfy Hermione. 'Her not knowing much about wizard tradition saved me from looking like an ass.' He saw Neville still laughing out of the corner of his eye. 'Neville just thought it was funny. Good kid.'

Harry was finally starting to relax when suddenly another person stormed in the room.

"You!"

SLAM!

Harry reeled back as he felt a searing pain in his… face region. 'What the hell?' The human blur stormed right back out of the room and slammed the compartment door shut. Harry rubbed his face where he'd been slapped. "That stung something fierce!"

"Harry! Are you all right?" Hermione rushed over and grabbed his face. "Let me look at that… doesn't seem too bad. Who was that girl? Do you know her?"

Harry shrugged. "No idea. Maybe a Death Eater's daughter or something who's mad because I offed the Dark Lord." Harry suddenly burst into a spurt of laughter.

Neville looked confused. "H-Harry?"

"What if that was Voldemort's daughter and I offed her crazy dark wizard dad? How bloody hysterical would that be?"

The two kids sitting to his left and right were too busy bursting with laughter at the idea to react at his use of the name. They all settled down after a minute of grins and the occasional snort of amusement. Another head peeked into the room.

Harry was still chuckling. "Oy, looks like this is the most popular room on the train! Don't tell me, you're Voldemort's son come to take revenge aren't you?"

The other two started laughing again and the redhead standing in the hall was utterly confused.

"Just joking mate, come on in? You a first year like us?"

He warily looked at Harry and shrugged. Behind him were the two twins he'd seen earlier. "Yeah, Ron's an ickle firstie."

"We're here to make sure—"

"He gets a proper wizarding education—"

"Preferably in Slytherin house, of course—"

"I'm not going to be in Slytherin!"

"True that, Ronniekins—"

"After all, you don't have an ounce of cunning—"

"In your whole body!" they said the last part in unison.

"Shut up!"

Harry was laughing again, this time at the antics of the twins. How long had it been since Harry had laughed more than twice in a day? He couldn't count. If anything, they were making his life tolerable. "Come on in, welcome to the court of the magnificent Harry Potter! I shall hand out punishments on dark wizards who storm into my compartment and slap me for no reason."

Hermione and Neville snorted. The three boys glanced at Harry's scar.

"By George, George—"

"It's Harry Potter!"

Ron's jaw slacked "Are you really—"

"The one and only. Care to join us?"

The twins shrugged. One of them replied, "Nah, we gotta meet Lee back in our compartment. We'll let ickle Ronniekins make friends with the most famous first year in history—"

"He needs all the help he can get!"

With that they scurried away. Ron shuffled nervously into the room and shook hands with Harry.

"Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter, good to meet you. Care for a pumpkin pasty?" They'd all gotten sweets earlier in between laughs at the girl who had apparently tried, and failed, to ruin Harry's day.

"Well… I guess one wouldn't hurt. Mum gave me corned beef sandwiches, but they're not really that good."

Harry's face screwed up with disgust. "Corned beef! The nerve. I thought wizards could just get whatever food they liked."

"No, Harry," Hermione scolded. "Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration states that five things can't be made out of magic: food, love, life, money, and knowledge. Even summoned animals don't have any actual nutritional value if you ate them."

Harry shrugged. "I didn't mean like that." He almost explained it before remembering that it would probably be a bad idea to explain how easy it would be to simply steal food from Muggles. "It's not a big deal."

The four continued to chat with each other, with others coming in intermittently. Harry excused himself in the middle of the trip ostensibly to go to the restroom ("number two, this might be a while", much to the chagrin of his overly informed compartment mates), but really began visiting compartments looking for other first years. By the end of the trip Harry had spoken to every single student in his class, except for two: the boys sitting in Draco's compartment. He would take care of Draco later, once he got his owl. By the time he made it back to his original compartment, the train had almost arrived.

Hermione raised her eyebrow at him. "Where have you been, Harry?"

"Do you really want to know?"

She decided she didn't.

Just then, a voice rang out throughout the train.

"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

He was finally there.

Hogwarts.


	5. Chapter 1: The Sorting and First Classes

A/N: From this point on, if it happened in the canon and doesn't noticeably contradict the story, it's safe to assume it happened here. There's no reason to regurgitate events that didn't change significantly and no reason for anyone to want to re-read them.

Chapter 1

**Year One: The Sorting and First Classes**

**1 September 1991**

Harry Potter always tried his best to keep himself under wraps, but very few eleven year olds can resist being awed at the sight that lay before him. A massive, placid lake lay before him as he followed Hagrid off the bus. Beyond it, a castle unlike any Harry had ever seen. Hogwarts Castle, where Harry would spend untold days hiding from the black robed, mask-clad uterine quality defense force. Life's a bitch sometimes.

Learning magic? That's a bonus.

The three kids Harry sat with on the train were all situated in a boat and beckoned to Harry to join them. He snapped out of his reverie and climbed aboard. The boats moved toward the opposite shore at Hagrid's command.

"I've heard a lot about the four houses," Harry said, "but how is it that you get placed in one or the other?"

"I read about it in Hogwarts, A History. It didn't describe the process, but it sorts you based on your personality traits and charact— yip yip yip yip yip yip."

This was happening far too frequently.

Longbottom to the rescue! "So you're just sorted on what kind of person you are?" A simple, easy to understand explanation. His shoulders, slumped, though. "I bet I get sorted into Hufflepuff…"

"Well, **I** think I'll be in Ravenclaw. That's where those who desire to learn are sorted and I think I would be perfect there."

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Shock us again, Hermione!'

"I for one don't think either of you will end up in either of those houses."

The other three turned to look at who had spoken. Hermione gave Harry a look of "oh, and how do you know?"

"Oh, and how do you know?"

Right in one!

"Because all four of us are going to be in Gryffindor, of course!"

Harry had read Hogwarts, A History too. More specifically, he read the passage that noted that personal choice is also a factor. This was his action to stir that pot.

"For one, Neville, you said both of your parents were Gryffindors, right?" Neville nodded. "And Hermione," Harry grinned at her, "the very first thing anyone notices about you is probably your unfailing lack of fear to say whatever is on your mind. So, Gryffindors the both of you!" Harry paused, then added, "Right along with me, of course."

Hermione gave him another displeased look at his little jab, but Harry watched as that was replaced with a hopeful look. 'Because she wants to be in the same house as a friend. People are easy!'

Neville looked encouraged. Like Draco and Ron, Neville was under the impression that Hufflepuff was a lesser house and had given himself that station mentally because of his lack of confidence. Harry was going to fix that. He couldn't have his future safety net turn into a yellow-bellied coward. After all, if Neville associated himself with Hufflepuff but could make it into Gryffindor, that meant he had the potential to be both heroically brave and loyal to a fault. What better traits could a man have?

Who can say! Who indeed!

.

.

The first years disembarked from the boats and continued their journey with the first professor he had ever met. Her name was McGonagall, and Harry thought she looked rigid and unforgiving. Not a pleasant thought, especially when he found out that she was the Head of House for Gryffindor. While they waited to be escorted into the Great Hall, Harry strayed from his group of four to chat with some of the other first years. He didn't always catch their names, but what he did look for was personalities. The last thing Harry wanted was the sociopathic child of some Death Eater to attack Harry Potter.

No one stuck out. Other than Harry, the class of 1998 really was rather boring.

When McGonagall came back, Harry scurried back over to his group as they were escorted into the Great Hall, which was bustling with the excitement of finding out which students were sorted into which houses.

The Hogwarts house organization was a curious invention. The entire system spawned from an intense rivalry between the Founders and, in their infinite bitterness, they decided to pass along these enmities for the next millennia or so. The house affiliation a person was labeled with affected how they were perceived for the rest of their lives. Hufflepuffs were regarded as weak, malleable people. Slytherins were untrustworthy and manipulative. Gryffindors were impulsive and flaunted authority. Ravenclaws were aloof and esoteric. These were labels-based on the decisions of eleven year olds-that stuck with them for the rest of their life.

Absurd? It's the magical world, don't act too surprised.

The manner in which the Sorting was done didn't help. Instead of being a private affair with a great deal of thought put into it, students, as Harry came to find out, were paraded in front of their peers and required to don a mind-reading hat. Not exactly ideal conditions for thinking, but that might be the intent. What snap decision will a student make under pressure? Perhaps that has more to say about a wizard's character than any calculated choice.

Or maybe wizards are just out of their collective minds.

Each student took a turn and placed the hat on their heads. The hat and the student sat silent and eventually the hat yelled which house they were in. Harry sat through several names that weren't all that important to him, until "Granger, Hermione" was called as a "GRYFFINDOR!" Ron was apparently not very happy about that, as Harry glanced down the line and saw him make a face. He could understand that. She was pretty… self-absorbed. The next name that Harry recognized was not a name he had expected to here.

"Jones, Megan!"

"Oh bugger…" he muttered

Things began clicking in his mind. 'That's definitely the girl that slapped me. I think I get it now. I'll have to deal with that little… issue later. The nerve of her! This isn't the Dark Ages, we settle problems like civil human beings now. S'

Jones was eventually sorted into Hufflepuff. When Neville put the hat on, Harry gave him a wink and mouthed, "Gryffindor!" The decision was almost instantaneous. Harry grinned at him, but rolled his eyes when Draco was immediately sorted into Slytherin. The next name, Moon, meant nothing to Harry, but the name after that sent chills down and right back up Harry's spine. Flashbacks of being in fear, close to tears, hiding in a tree from an assault by men who wanted to kill him raced through his mind. Harry began to shake, an action the people in the Great Hall would take for nervousness. But Harry wasn't nervous. He was terrified. He didn't even hear the first name. All he heard was,

"Nott!"

Nott. Nott. Nott Nott Nott —

"Potter, Harry!"

Harry snapped to attention with a start. He looked down the row and saw that, sure enough, he was next in line to be Sorted. 'Holy hell! What on earth happened to the last five minutes?' He couldn't even hear the background noise of the crowd talking about him.

Professor McGonagall looked at him with concern, "Come on dear, no need to be nervous. There is a line you know, let's move along."

Harry swallowed and nodded. "Y-yeah…"

He placed the Sorting Hat on his head and to his surprise, the hat began to speak to him. 'Hmm… what a clever and devious mind you have! You would do best in—'

'Hang on! Don't I get a choice in the matter? I do, I know it!'

'Ah, but you would be well-suited for Slytherin! Your mind is always moving, always planning, a trait properly appreciated in that House.'

'Which is exactly why I shouldn't be in there!' Harry countered. 'If it's a known fact that Slytherins are like that, wouldn't it be better to be placed in a house not known for that kind of thing? You'd draw less suspicion!'

'A thoroughly Slytherin idea!'

Harry groaned inwardly. 'If anything, it's Ravenclaw logic. That's not the point though! I want to be in the House of Gryffindor. You must have sorted my parents, right? Where did they get Sorted?'

If it were possible, the hat would have smiled in resignation. 'Your mother and father were both Gryffindors.'

Harry grinned. 'Then I want to follow in their path. Make me one, too!'

'Very well, Harry Potter. I nevertheless think you will be a great—'

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The red and gold table erupted in a roar of celebration, with cheers of "Potter's a Gryffindor!" ringing out all down the long table. With the odd satisfaction of beating a talking hat in an argument, Harry jogged over to the Gryffindor table with a grin on his face, hi-fiving down the row like a celebrating sports player after scoring an important goal. His housemates reacted with chuckles at his forced enthusiasm as Harry took a seat next to Hermione and across from Neville. The only other Sorting that Harry really noted was "Weasley, Ron", who was predictably sorted into Gryffindor. Ron took the seat next to Harry and grinned at them. "Let's eat!"

Harry gave him a wan smile. "Food's a constant for you, innit Ron? Keep it up and you might look like Goyle over there." Harry nodded his head over toward the-well, "portly" would be the polite term—boy sitting at the Slytherin table. Ron's face coloured red and his eating tempered a bit. Just a bit, though. It wasn't enough to stop Hermione from giving him looks of disgust from next to Harry, looks which Ron was blissfully unaware of. Neville snickered at their antics and Harry gave him a knowing chuckle and dug in himself.

The food far outmatched anything he'd ever made in pageantry and in taste. The staggering array of food impressed even the pureblood first years. Harry took the opportunity to grill Ron's older brother Percy, a prefect and very Hermione-like, about the professors. Quirrell was the only one he knew, from their odd meeting in the Leaky Cauldron. Harry munched on his food as Percy gave him a very official-sounding report on the professors.

"Quirrell is the new Defense Against Dark Arts and has a nasty stutters. Quite odd, as I've heard he wasn't always like that. Apparently used to be pretty well-spoken until he had a run-in with something nasty in the Balkans. Rattled him, it did. The one sitting next to him with the nasty look on his face, that's Professor Snape. He probably knows more about the Dark Arts than Quirrell even, but he teaches Potions. Quite good himself, but a bit of a duffer at actually teaching it. He's not the professor to mess with, you make him mad once and he'll hate you for the next seven years."

Harry groaned at this. It's not that he wasn't used to being eternally hated, but it wasn't exactly helping his stress issues.

"The short, stubby one is Professor Flitwick, he teaches Charms. Not really very remarkable one way or another, so long as you get your work done you won't have any problems." Harry liked the sound of that. Charms are what he did best. "You already met Professor McGonagall, who teaches Transfiguration. I think you already know how she teaches." Harry nodded. Her personality was pretty… opaque. "Professor Sprout is that lady right there. She teaches Herbology. Nice one, she is. That's Sinistra next to her, the Astronomy teacher. Binns isn't eating with the rest, considering his condition."

"Condition?"

Percy smiled at his own little joke. "Binns is a ghost. He teaches History of Magic. Most kids take naps in there, since he doesn't really care what people do in there."

Harry grinned at that. He now had naptime scheduled in his day for him! 'Convenient,' he thought.

.

.

The rest of the feast was unremarkable. Dumbledore gave his warning about the third floor corridor, which Harry chuckled at but was still intrigued by. Percy led them back to the Gryffindor Commons and explained the password system. Harry went to his room and slept almost immediately. 'It wouldn't do to be sleep deprived on my first day,' he figured, 'especially not when I'm learning magic. Bloody magic! This is surreal as nothing else.'

**2 September 1991**

Harry woke up quite early the next morning, feeling warmed and refreshed. He took the time to stroll around the castle before going to the Great Hall for breakfast. He almost got lost several times, but managed to keep his bearings by casting Colour Changing Charms on small objects in the corridors to keep track of where he'd been and where he needed to go. After getting a grip on where he needed to go, he made it to the Great Hall, where students were just starting to pour in. He had apparently gotten up earlier than he thought. He found Hermione at the Gryffindor table and sat next to her.

"Morning Hermione! Sleep well knowing today was the first day of your magical education?"

She glared at him. Of course she hadn't. "Maybe I was a little excited last night," she admitted. "It is an incredible occasion! You were raised by Muggles like me, so you should know what I'm talking about."

Harry gave her a knowing wink. "Maybe I should! But I also know the value of a good night's sleep for important occasions. Oh, that bacon looks just delicious! Pass it over?"

Hermione obliged him. Ron and Neville both arrived at about that time and they discussed the classes they'd be sharing together. It turns out that the class they thought would be the most interesting, DADA, was a boring mess. Quirrell spent more time clarifying his inane stuttering than he did getting information in a digestible format for the students. This frustrated Harry to no end, as this was the subject that Harry wanted—no, **needed**—to learn the most. The entirety of the class, Harry's brain flooded with the knowledge that someone related to the man who tried to murder him was at Hogwarts. Was it his nephew? His son? Either way, Harry was deeply troubled. His only comfort was that Nott was getting just as poor of an education as he was. Harry spent some time learning on his own, but he had better things to do.

But that's a bit in the future. For now, Harry was just enjoying his first morning's breakfast and chatting with his new friends. Ron's brothers Fred and George were always good for a laugh, something Harry needed in his life. Harry also liked to banter with Seamus Finnegan, a halfie with wizardry from his mother's side, and Dean Thomas, raised by Muggles like he and Hermione. They weren't quite as relatable as his first friends, but they were fiercely defensive of Harry around the gawkers that plagued him his first few days.

"Bugger! Think I've left my things in my room. I'll run up there and meet you guys in Charms."

The others nodded in understanding and Harry walked out of the Great Hall, not aware he was being followed. He got about halfway down the second corridor on the way to the Gryffindor Common Room when he was shoved into an unused classroom by an unknown assailant. Harry cried out as the door slammed behind him and he was plunged in darkness. Harry brought his wand up and pointed it toward the door and yelled "_Protego_!", awaiting the oncoming attack.

It never came.

"_Lumos_." A voice called out.

The other wand in the room lit up and showered the room in golden, glowing light. Harry finally saw the face of his attacker. He would have hardly recognized who it was, had he not been given a familiar name to associate with the face.

"Megan."

"Harry bloody Potter. I hope you're happy." He could see her face, twisted in a scowl, brimming with angry tears that weren't quite falling. "You never came to see me. You **promised**. You promised! I believed you! Where were you?"

Her voice grew ragged and hoarse and she stopped to regain her composure.

"Megan…"

"Shut up! Just shut up! I trusted you. What is your problem? Are you just a jerk by nature or did you develop into it? You didn't even send word, EVER." Harry flinched at every word. This was not the kind of disaster he needed in his life. He hung his head in a defeated manner and gave her his best face of regret. The look of pain in his eyes was almost tangible as he bit his lip nervously and fidgeted in place.

Her face softened.

It was all he could do not to grin like the Cheshire Cat.

"I tried. I tried every day, Megan. My aunt and uncle… they hate magical people. They kept me locked in a cupboard every day when they found out I snuck out and visited someone who was magical. I… I barely had enough food to survive. I had a chance once, when they left me alone in the cupboard while they went on vacation for three days and I snuck out, but I forgot. I was just so hungry! I had to get food." Harry, looking as if he could no longer meet her eyes, shifted them down to his feet and stood wincing as if expecting a blow.

It came. Just not the blow Harry's body was prepared for.

She practically threw herself at him as those tears that had been building in her eyes finally came out in a burst of sobs and apologies. He clutched her in return and massaged her hair, murmuring and shushing in her ear for comfort. With his head behind hers, Harry grinned. ' Oh, but this is so much fun!'

She broke off from him abruptly, embarrassed and still sniffling. Harry flashed his winning smile. "Don't worry about it. I can see why you might have thought that. Not that I forgive you for slapping me just yet!"

She gave a weak smile back. "Yeah. You'll hate me even more for this, but… I even started thinking you might have stolen my mother's wand."

Harry's heart pounded at that. 'She doesn't **know**? Clutch!'

"Sorry, haven't seen it since you had it a couple years ago." Harry idly twirled his wand. "This is mine. Sheesh, it has been years though, hasn't it? I thought of you plenty when I was locked up, you know. I really had fun that day. I… I missed it a lot. Missed you a lot."

He watched with amusement as she struggled to fight down her continuing embarrassment. "It just makes me feel worse when you say that, after all I did. Oh, but it's getting close to time for class."

Harry grimaced. "Yeah, and I left my things in my room. I need to run off to the Commons before class."

"Well, get going then! You don't want to be late on your first day do you?"

He most certainly didn't.

.

.

Harry was perturbed. His classes didn't really help him much and he was beginning to get frustrated. He could understand why that was in Charms, where he was already miles ahead of other students, but he knew next to nothing about any of the other subjects and was progressing at a snail's pace. The exception was Potions, which for some twisted reason excited Harry. The constant juggling of making his own potion, avoiding the constantly one-straw-short back of his professor, and making sure Neville didn't annihilate everyone in the room was oddly satisfying. Potions was definitely not his specialty, but Harry could make solid E level and A level grades on most things if he gave it effort. It was getting to that O that he could never do.

Snape had grilled Harry on day one like the spiteful chap he was, but Harry had struck him dumb for a few moments by nailing the bezoar question. Harry only knew that one because he found it funny how different the magical and Muggle conception of bezoars was, but he didn't tell Snape that. He had no idea what on earth monkshood was, so Snape had the last laugh, he supposed. Not as if he was a spritely fellow from the first place, anyway.

The point being that Harry was here for two reasons: to hide from dark wizards and to learn as much as he could about defending himself. The relative of one already knew where he was now and he had learned almost zero about self-defense from his professors. Harry had seemingly boundless patience, but even that was beginning to wear just a bit thin. He was certifiably **bored**.

There had been an incident, however, in the DADA class. Quirrell wasn't fond of teaching the practical side of things, but during a rare bout of decent teaching he let the students pair up against each other, one Gryffindor and one Slytherin, and practice curses and countercurses. It wasn't quite a dueling session, but it was close enough. Because Harry Potter was constantly cursed to suffer from interesting coincidences, he was paired against the one person that would make him act wholly unnaturally.

Theodore Nott.

Harry growled under his breath, but managed to keep himself under control until the room started to shift naturally from just practice into lazy duels, like how a room of students cowed into whispering by its teacher will slowly raise the volume until set back to its lower noise level. Nott did the same. "Come on Potter, let's step it up," he called out as he fired off a Leg-Locker, "I'm not an easy target, my father has taught me a few thi—"

Harry flew off the handle at that. He began firing low-level jinxes and then suddenly hammered him with a shout of "_Depulso_!", sending Nott flying toward the door and straight out of the classroom. The entire class whirled to look at Harry. Realizing his mistake, Harry casually scratched the back of his head.

"Whoops! Guess I don't know my own strength, haha…"

They didn't find it all that funny.

Nott struggled to crawl back into the room and ended up being sent to the Hospital Wing with a concussion, as he'd slammed his head against the wall when he finally game to a brutal halt. Draco gave Harry a look of anger at attacking a Slytherin so blatantly. He mouthed "Sorry!" back at him, but it seemed as if Draco didn't believe him. No surprise there. Harry had also lost five points for Gryffindor for that one, with Quirrell scolding him for his inappropriate use of Charms in a setting that didn't call for it, a light punishment compared to what attacking a student could have gotten him. Harry shrugged and was just glad no one had noticed that he was attacking students with fourth-year Charms. No one, of course, except Hermione Granger, the girl too smart for her own good. She caught up to him after that class.

"Harry!"

He turned to respond. "Yeah?"

"That was the Banishing Charm you used on Nott!"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose it was."

That response didn't satiate her. "But that's a fourth year spell! How is it that you know how it already?"

"Hey, I happen to know that you know several second and third year spells. What's the matter, can't have anyone else moving ahead like you do. Are you…" Harry's face twisted into a mischievous grin, "…jealous?"

Her face flushed, half because he was right and half because he was provoking her. "That's ridiculous. I just wanted to know how you learned it. Is that so wrong?"

He smiled gently. "Of course not. If you like, you can borrow the book from me. It's just like this year's Charms book, but for fourth years."

Her eyes brightened at that. "Oh, I would love that!"

Harry surprised her by giving her the book immediately. He took it out of the books compartment in his backpack and handed it to her straight away.

"Oh! T-thank you, Harry. That's a terribly convenient backpack you have. I'll get the book back to you in perfect condition, I promise!"

"If you treated people as well as you treated books, you'd be the most popular girl in our year."

"Harry!"

He grinned and pulled her to his side by the shoulder. "You know I'm just teasing. Let's get out of here and eat lunch, I'm bloody starving!"

The look on her face showed that she didn't appreciate the conviviality of his arm being around her, but she didn't throw him off either. Harry liked that. 'Hormones are fun!'

He had no idea.


	6. Chapter 2: The Foundations

Chapter 2

Y**ear One: The Foundations**

**5 October 1991**

"Must I be here? I have better things to do right now than compare notes and brag about favorite students."

Yes Professor Snape, yes you must. Even in the Wizarding World faculty meetings are a must for any organized educational institution. Though to be fair, Hogwarts could very well be described as not being organized, educational, or an institution.

"Severus, you know as well as I do that these meetings are vital to ensuring that our students receive the best education possible. And besides," Dumbledore added with a twinkle in his eye, "the less you complain, the quicker we will all be done here."

"Very well. I have nothing of note to report. That is all."

"Always a delight. Minerva?"

"The second years are particularly bad this time around. The Weasley boys are of course up to their usual tricks, but now the entire year seems to be infected with their… charm. I've tried to handle them with some reservation, but now I must recommend that any pranking or rule-breaking be handled much more strictly in their case."

"Of course, any rule-breakers must be dealt with as the Hogwarts guidelines dictate." Wait, was that a wink? The damn old man had a soft spot for the mischievous, particularly those in Gryffindor.

"Ah, your soft spot for the mischievous is showing again Headmaster, particularly regarding those in Gryffindor."

Snape is more astute than most. It must be a Slytherin thing.

Dumbledore's lip twitched just a tad upward. "Nonsense, Severus. Pomona?"

The meeting droned on. Severus dozed off once, when Argus Filch advocated for installing cat doors in each classroom, but perked right up at the last subject of note for the meeting.

"…Harry Potter."

"Oh come now Headmaster." Severus said. "The boy gets enough attention as it is, must we even talk about him behind closed doors?"

"Like it or not Severus, the boy is a person of great importance. His development is crucial to the future of the Wizarding World. He must be a good example for his classmates and the rest of society, so we don't have another situation like Voldemort." Flinches across the room. "How has the boy adjusted to his new life in the month he has been here?"

Filius Flitwick spoke first. "Potter is talented, that is for sure. His Charms knowledge is impressive, though his technique is very raw of course. If I didn't know better, I'd say he wasn't raised in a Muggle family at all."

"I couldn't disagree more. The boy is an absolute mess at the craft of potionmaking and didn't have a grasp of basic knowledge that can be found in standard potions books." Severus said.

Minerva glared at him. "That's because you asked him questions suitable for a fourth year! Don't think I didn't hear about that incident, Severus," she replied, "or your treatment of Potter and some of my other first years."

"Minerva, enough." Dumbledore interrupted. "Let's stay on topic."

"Certainly, Albus. Harry seems eager to learn in Transfiguration, but what I'm more worried about is his interaction with his classmates. At first he seemed to be getting along splendidly with his fellow Gryffindors and even some students from other classes, but… Albus, I think something may have happened to him."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"He's… I don't know how to describe it. Reserved is only a part of it. He seems normal in classes and at meals, but my Prefects have told me that in the common room he almost refuses to talk to anyone outside of classwork. He withdraws into a shell that no one can get through."

"Just like Potter to think himself above his fellow—"

"You will not talk about one of my students like that! What of Malfoy's incessant preening? If anyone thinks himself above the rest of the class, it's him!"

Snape smirked. "Now Minerva, we are talking about Harry Potter, not any of my students—whom I can handle on my own, I might add."

Dumbledore sighed. "Severus is right." McGonagall opened her mouth in protest, but he continued. "However, Severus, if you wish to leave sooner than later, you will refrain from such undercutting remarks." Severus shrugged at that, but did not say any more. "Now Minerva, what about his social development worries you so?"

McGonagall sighed. "As I was saying, Harry is doing admirably in his learning, but there is something off about how he interacts with his classmates. I can't help but think it has something to do with those horrid Muggles he lived with."

"Now Minerva, you know that was necessary for a variety of reasons." Dumbledore said.

"Yes yes, but my point remains. Thanks to those… people, Harry refuses to let anyone in. I don't want to see him go down a darker, lonelier path. None of us do, not even you Severus." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Whether he wanted it or not, Harry was made a standard bearer for the next generation of wizards. If he falters, the fallout could be tremendous. His inability—or unwillingness—to make friends is a troubling sign."

.

* * *

.

That wasn't entirely true, actually. There was one person who Harry consented to share his secrets with, but even then not entirely—we'll get to that later. Harry's intransigence in friendliness had nothing to do with the Dursleys. However, McGonagall was half right on the idea that Harry's guardians had caused his sudden change in behavior. The only teacher, parent, guide that he ever had was indeed back with a vengeance.

**10 September 1991**

"Thanks for helping us with our Charms work, Harry!"

Harry grinned. The power of a mighty wizard pales in comparison to what a full set of pearly whites can do for you. Now he was using his mightiest weapon on the hodgepodge of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff first years he'd been working with. "Not a problem, especially for such a decent set of chaps such as yourselves."

"Just the chaps, Harry?"

He shrugged at Megan. "The ladies too, of course. But alas, it's almost curfew and I need to get back to the Common Room. See you all next week!"

"Bye Harry!"

"Later, Potter!"

Harry nearly dove through the Fat Lady on the way back to his dorms. He walked with swagger that was borderline inappropriate for an 11 year old. 'Life is good Potter, life is good.'

He tossed his pack to the ground next to his bed and dug in it for his parchment. Potions essays don't write themselves, and all that. 'Where is the bloody thing?' he wondered, as he pored through scattered papers and notes passed in class. That's when he came across…

"My book! I was wondering where it… was…"

Harry stared at what he had just rediscovered. He had made several copies of his book, which looked like a better and better idea as he continued to gawk at what had become of his backpack's loose compartment copy. Ink ran down the cover. Several pages were partially torn out. The binding was coming apart. In other words?

A perfect metaphor for how Harry had treated his code.

Before we go any further, let's remember who Harry Potter is. Until the age of seven, he was nothing more than a broken, scared, abused little boy. No one had shown him affection, but more importantly no one had shown him attention. Even those who are hated by their guardians can still be driven by negative attention to improve their lot in life. In his most critical developmental years, Harry had none of that. Then, when he was at his most vulnerable, his most malleable, he was given that attention for the first time in his life. That person could have told him that his entire life's purpose was eating fetuses—it didn't matter. It didn't matter! Who cares? Someone filled an ever-deepening void in his life, just a bit, and he clung to that.

Now look at the state of it all. Harry didn't cry. Crying was reserved for being locked in cupboards for days at a time and never having friends and being beaten by your uncle and your cousin and his friends and… and…

And what?

These thoughts rushed through his mind. He bit his lip to stop the watering up before it happened and drew his wand. Painstakingly, he cleaned every last bit, reattached the pages, and made it as new. 'Better than new!' he convinced himself. Then he read.

All night long he read.

Over

and

over

again

Until the dark spaces ran away again, he read.

**5 October 1991**

What a fucked up kid. At least he's not dead.

He had progressed in one way, though. Harry decided to amend his book for the first time and let one person get just one foot in the door.

"Neville Longbottom, you bloody son of a—"

"Language, Harry!"

He sighed. "Relax, I was being friendly! You know, friendly. The thing you do with books? That thing."

Hermione shot a glare at him and put her nose back in Hogwarts, A History for the third time. The Gryffindor commons was turning into a second library thanks to the valiant efforts of one bushy-haired little girl.

"Really Harry… you could use to tone it down just a bit." Neville said.

Harry smiled. "I suppose I could. You ready to head up to the rooms and get a little Charms study in?" Neville nodded his assent. "Good, I've wanted to try a little trick out and I need your help."

Hermione poked her head out again. "And why not do it in here? It's much less crowded and logically it makes sense. You could help out more people that way."

He raised a brow. "Who said I wanted to do that?" Her scowl deepened. "I'm kidding! Honestly, Hermione… No, Neville and I just want to do a little private practice. Can't you just be okay with that? Now c'mon Neville, no time to lose!"

Harry liked Neville. Not like that. Harry had a honed sense of personal quirks and saw a lot of potential in the young Longbottom heir. His development was obviously stunted by his guardian, his grandmother, as Harry had found out. He was a shy and reserved boy, but deep beneath that veneer was a fierce, loyal core. Harry decided on Neville the moment the Sorting Hat put him in Gryffindor. Not that he told Neville much at all, but he knew that if he wanted to survive in a world filled with fanatical devotees to a paramilitary force of bloody wizards, he needed help. Longbottom was the start.

So he told him the story of the forest, how he'd nearly been cornered by two Death Eaters and only barely escaped by talking to the snakes. Neville confirmed his fear: Nott was indeed the son of the man who nearly had him killed. It was then that Harry had asked him the million dollar question.

"Neville, can I count on you?"

Neville hesitated just a moment, but something about the way Harry pleaded with him lit a flame in his heart. All some people need is someone to believe in them. "Absolutely."

That was a couple weeks ago—time had already began blurring for Harry—but the effects were already noticeable. During flying lessons, Neville's Remembrall slipped from his robes and fell to the ground. Draco picked it up, but Neville snatched it back. Draco lunged for it, and that was when Neville shocked everyone on the field.

He slugged the little ferret. Pow! Right in the kisser! Broken nose and eight Muggle stitches worth of cut from where he gashed himself on a rock as he fell. The detention would last just two weeks, but no one looked at Neville Longbottom the same way ever again.

Or Malfoy, for that matter. His nose was always a bit crooked after that.

That was the least of Harry's worries at that time. He hopped off his broom, sprang forward, and grabbed Neville around the shoulders and restrained his arms. "Easy, easy! That's enough, Neville!" Neville twisted once to the left, twist! Then again to the right, twist! He nearly broke free from Harry's grip the second time, but cooler heads prevailed.

"Not worth it mate, not even close." Harry said softly, too soft for anyone to hear but Ron, who gave an approving nod. Madam Hooch stood still stunned, mouth agape, from the outright display of brute physical violence as Neville stormed off. He turned his head back over his shoulder, "I'm going to tell McGonagall what I did. I'm sure her punishment will be harsher anyway." Hooch nodded mutely as he disappeared into Hogwarts, leaving a trail of disbelieving students murmuring in his wake.

"I can't believe Longbottom did that!" "Wasn't that the kid who couldn't find his toad on the Express?" "Holy cow, what a right hook!" The last remark was from a Muggleborn. Most wizards didn't know a right hook from a touchdown. Nor did they know anything of Hinduism, which is a group of people who collectively agreed upon the sanctity of bovine, among other things.

There are about a billion of these people around the world.

Draco heard none of these comments as he writhed on the ground, grasping his face. His protégés Crabbe and Goyle tried to help him up, but to no avail.

"Get off me you gorillas! Where were you when I was being attacked?" Draco cleared some of the blood from his face and looked up to see a hand extended to him. "Potter. The same question could be asked of you. You could have restrained that oaf friend of yours sooner."

Harry chuckled. "And you could have not picked a fight with a guy with shoulders like a half-Giant, so we can both improve." Draco grunted at this, the closest he was going to get to admitting some kind of responsibility. "Now c'mon, let's get to Madam Pomfrey before that thing scabs.

Draco gave one more baleful glance to Harry's outstretched arm, but grasped it nevertheless and let Harry pull him up. Harry slung Draco's arm over his own shoulder and began the trek to Pomfrey's ward.

Madam Hooch still hadn't uttered a sound.

.

* * *

.

"Why are you helping me anyway Potter? And get your hand off me, I didn't even injure my legs."

Harry shrugged. They were still a good bit away from the medical wing, but Harry slowed his pace anyway. Wouldn't want to arrive too quickly, you know. "Why not? You're a decent enough bloke when you're not stealing from my friends. No one else was giving you a hand except for Thing 1 and Thing 2."

"What are you—never mind. What I meant was… you're a Gryffindor and the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. What are you do care about helping a Slytherin?"

They turned another corner.

"I dunno. Maybe the whole House thing is big with you magical people, but I don't give a damn. It's all in good fun from time to time, but it's not that serious, y'know?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry. "You know, I forget sometimes that you were raised by Muggles. You could never understand the traditions of the Wizarding World the way we purebloods do. It means far more than you could possibly imagine.

He stopped.

"I can make it from here, Potter. Do yourself a favor and learn your place in our world. You do it a great injustice with your ignorance."

"Whatever you say. Oh, and a favor Draco? Let the Neville thing go. Tell your housemates that you baited him into getting two weeks of detention and let it be. They'll eat that up."

Draco sniffed. "You're not as ill-mannered as I thought. Fine, I won't bring it up again."

He made an about face and strolled down the hall. Harry did the same. As he rounded the corridor, he heard a voice.

"Potter!"

Harry peeked his head back around. "Yeah?"

"You don't mess with me, I won't mess with you. Agreed?"

Harry's mouth twisted into a little smile. "You got it."

.

* * *

.

By the time Harry made it back to where he'd left his class, there were only two figures remaining. One was Madam Hooch. The other was Minerva McGonagall, head of Gryffindor house. Harry felt a slight pinge in his stomach. 'Am I getting in trouble for this too? That's a load of bollocks!'

"Harry, Madam Hooch told me about the Remembrall incident. She also told me about what you were doing just beforehand, while everyone else was distracted. Show me, please."

'What had I been doing before I landed and broke them up? Just flying, I suppose.'

"Yes, Professor McGonagall."

Harry mounted one of the cheap school brooms and took off, lazing around in the air. He could see McGonagall shaking her head in confusion and Hooch gesturing madly. The latter looked up at Harry and yelled, "Harry, do those moves you were doing before!"

Harry shrugged and did it. He did a few basic rolls and turnabouts, dipping and weaving around the trees until he saw McGonagall gesture him to land. When he did, he saw the bemused look on Hooch's face and the shocked one on his Head of House's.

"So Minerva, do you have your seventh player or what?"

.

* * *

.

"But are you sure?"

McGonagall sighed. "Yes, Harry, for the tenth time. The way you flew out there, on that beat up old school broom, was masterful. Gryffindor doesn't have student anywhere close to that level of play in the entire House that isn't already on the team. Are you sure you haven't flown a broom before?"

"How could I? I didn't even know I was a wizard until a month ago!" Lying gets easier when everything stays consistent. Harry had already broken curfew twice this year just to fly his old used broom, and that didn't even count his gallivanting over Muggle space previously. Something about breaking the laws of physics time after time against the silky black midnight sky made focusing on the code of survival much easier.

Dip. Twist. Roll. Climb. Never. Get. Too. Close. Feint. Waggle. Dive. Curve. Stay. Safe. Behind. Others. It made a sweet harmony in his advanced mammalian brain case that had been warped into a bitter parody of the foundational evolutionary purpose of that big brain: survival.

McGonagall shook her head. "I suppose so. Nevertheless, we've needed a seventh player for some time and I know you can do it. The way you're growing you might be too tall for Seeker in a matter of months… no, that won't do at all. Ah, but Bell is the right size for Seeker! And pretty fast on a broom at that. She can move to Seeker and you can take her place as a Chaser! Does that work for you?"

Harry blinked once, then twice again. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

True enough, he'd seen the Quidditch shop when he visited Diagon Alley. He simply had no idea what the hell it was or why people dressed up in lacrosse gear would waste the freeing gift of flight on a constrained arena. Professor McGonagall did not share this skepticism. In fact, she presumed any wizard of any age knew all about Quidditch, which is why she stared at Harry like he were an alien. She spent the next twenty minutes of his precious time explaining the rules, positions, and tactics of the game. Yip yip fuckin' yip. It took her that long before realizing that,

"It's late! Potter, get off to lunch before you end up being late for class. I will not be writing you an excuse, so hurry up!" She said that last bit with a stern tone, but smiled warmly at Harry. "And congratulations, Potter, on being the youngest House player in recent history."

.

* * *

.

Actually, the youngest House player in recent history had played Seeker in 1885 for Slytherin. He was the firstborn and heir of the Gaunt family, who got his early admission at the age of ten and a place on the Quidditch team thanks to a few well-placed bribes. Slytherin went 0-3 that year. The young man himself died fourteen years later. He thought it chivalrous to fight in a magical division in the Boer War. His brain was eaten by Zulu witch doctors, who thought consuming his body would give them his powers. All it gave them was indigestion.

So, whatever.

.

* * *

.

Harry stumbled into the Great Hall that lunch period in a spot of confusion. Sure, he liked flying, even if it was more or less in a cattle pen. What he was trying to figure out is how he was added to the Quidditch team without ever actually consenting. McGonagall was remarkably persuasive when she wanted to be, and he supposed he wanted to get on her good side. Besides, even considering how much time as it would cut out of his schedule, he figured that it would help him make connections. 'No matter how strong I get, I can't beat Voldemort and his Death Eaters alone. Hell, or even just escape them. That's why I need all the help I can get.'

Which actually brings us back to present time! Neville and Harry are still in their room, the dullards.

"No matter how strong I get, I can't beat Voldemort and his Death Eaters alone. Hell, or even just escape them. That's why I need all the help I can get." Harry said, shaking his head contemplatively.

Neville bowed his head and sighed, feeling heavily burdened with the reality of the situation. "I understand the Death Eater thing, but why are you talking as if… You-Know-Who is still alive? I thought you… y'know, killed him when you were a baby."

Harry shrugged. It was the same question he'd asked himself ever since he'd read about Voldemort for the first time back when he was nine. "I honestly don't know, Neville. It's not just a hunch, I can feel it deep inside… god, I feel like a staff-wielding prat when I say that, but it's all I can give you mate. It's probably some magic bollocks that three people in all of history have heard of."

More or less Harry, more or less.

"So… what do we do? We're only kids, no one will believe us…"

Harry smiled and leaned over and clapped him on the shoulder, "No worries mate, I'll figure it out. For now, just do what you do best and be a good-natured bloke. You go back to the Commons, I've got some reading to catch up on." With a nod, Neville left the room and closed the door. Harry exhaled deeply, feeling as if a load had been lifted from his back as he cracked open his Potions book. He got two lines, then suddenly slammed it shut. 'Ah, to hell with it!' he thought, rushing to follow Neville. He arrived just in time to join in a game of Exploding Snap with Seamus and Ron. Sometimes, an eleven year old just has to be an eleven year old for a few hours.

**31 October 1991**

This, on the other hand, was not one of those few hour periods.

"Merlin Ron, why would you even say something like that?"

"I didn't know Hermoine was there, Neville!" he replied in protest.

Harry sighed. "We were in the same bloody class," he said. "How did you not figure she was at least in the area? And I—oh, great, we were too busy chewing out your tactless git self to see where she went!"

"I think I have an idea," said Neville, "but we should let her be. She'll cry it out and be back in time for the Feast. It's a girl thing."

Harry shrugged. Girl things weren't really his specialty.

.

* * *

.

"Good call Longbottom. Who knows how long she's been… wherever she is. And don't you dare smirk Weasley, this is your fault to begin with." That wiped the grin off his face. Suddenly, the doors to the Great Hall burst open and Professor Quirrel stumbled in. We all know what's coming.

"Troll. In the dungeons. Thought you should know." Wumph. Down goes the professor.

Classic.

Harry turned to Neville to say something amidst the ever-growing din and noticed he had his head buried in his hands. "You all right mate? Oh bugger, you're going to say something I don't want to hear aren't you? You bloody well are you wanker, aren't you!"

Neville just nodded.

.

* * *

.

"So the three of us are running to our deaths by mountain troll because she might be in that bathroom? Bloody brilliant." A figure whizzed by and yelled at the trio.

"Oi, what are you three doing? Follow the Prefects back to the Common Room, quick!"

Harry groaned. "Now is **not** the time, Finnegan! We'll explain later!"

"Your funeral," he remarked as he ran off.

"Yeah, I'm starting to buy into that myself…" Ron muttered.

"Stuff it Ron, you made this bed and you'll bloody well lie in it." Harry said. Not that he hadn't thought that exact thing already. Was it worth it risking his life to chase after this bookwormy know-it-all? It took him about half a second to admit that yes, yes she was. There were rumors swirling from the Prefects that the teachers regarded her as potentially being the smartest witch of their year—and the whole bloody generation. It's like you've got the first pick in the Wizard Draft and Merlin is still available. You don't go after Mundungus bleedin' Fletcher, you take Merlin! Then he paused. "Dammit! One of us has to go back and warn the teachers. There's no way we're killing a full grown troll between the three of us."

"So who goes back?" Ron asked

Harry knew the answer instantly. "Neville, I trust you on this one. Hurry back, bring a teacher and only a teacher, preferably Dumbledore. Go!"

Neville nodded and took off down the hall one way, while Harry and Ron went the opposite direction. They rounded a corner at top speed as Harry tried to draw his want. As he drew it, his leg caught on his robe and sent him and his wand crashing to the floor, in two different directions.

"Harry!"

"Go! I'll catch up! Hurry!"

Ron sprinted down the hall. Harry scrambled to his feet and ran where he thought his wand had fallen. He saw it behind a tapestry and crouched to pick it up. When he did, he saw something else behind it: a pair of feet. These feet were attached to legs, which stretched up into robes, which ended with a head.

"Potter."

Harry nearly vomited. "Nott."

.

* * *

.

"But you have to let me talk to him!" Neville said

"Sorry kid, Professor Dumbledore is busy trying to get the students to safety so he can take care of the troll without anyone getting hurt." The Prefect replied.

He'd had enough. "No! I will NOT take no for an answer!" The Prefect motioned him to quiet down as she nervously glanced at the growing crowd around them. That just made him louder. "I WILL NOT BE QUIET WHEN SOMEONE MIGHT BE IN DANGER, AND YOU WILL TELL ME WHERE HE IS **RIGHT NOW.**"

"Mister Longbottom, enough!" He whirled around and came face to face with a flustered Minerva McGonagall. "There is plenty of chaos to go around without you adding to it! I will be forced to take points from you unless you have a quite good reason for this uproar, young man."

"Professor McGonagall! We didn't see Hermione in the Great Hall when the troll came and we think she might be trapped in the dungeons. You have to tell Professor Dumbledore, quickly!" Neville said

"That is indeed very serious. I shall get Albus right away and we will see to it that Miss Granger is safe. I'll take those five points I was going to strip from you and add them instead." With that, she rushed out of the Common Room to find Dumbledore.

Neville turned to the Prefect and… well, if looks could kill, his eyes would be green and overflowing with Avada Kedavras. In fact, Voldemort may have been working on that very spell before he was vanquished at the Potter residence in Godric's Hollow. Sadly, the world would never know the truth about that mysterious spell until the Quibbler posted a special on "Eyevada Kevadra! How He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Could Kill With A Stare" in 2013. Not all of us will be fortunate enough to see that day.

.

* * *

.

In the meanwhile.

"Y-y-y-you… what are you d-doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you, Potter. Don't you know there's a troll wandering the—"

"Shut up! I'm asking the questions. How did you know I'd be here?"

Nott said nothing. Instead, his form slowly began to change, growing taller and adding weight, a little hair here and there, until it began to resemble, "YOU! You're his father! You disguised yourself as him to get into Hogwarts and kill me!"

The elder Nott smiled grimly. "Yes Harry Potter, it is all true. And now your time on Earth is nearly at an end. Pity it had to be so short, boy!"

Harry yelled, "NO! You won't take me back there. NOT AGAIN." Harry leveled his wand at the man, who took a step back and grimaced.

"Now now, boy…"

"DON'T CALL ME BOY!" Harry screamed. "I know what you want! You want to take me back to the cupboard! You're going to kill me and I'm going to spend the rest of eternity in a tiny dark… nothing, trapped forever! Just like the cupboard! I won't let it happen, you old bastard!"

All Harry did was blink once, and before him again was the young boy Nott, who was visibly shaken. "P-P-P-Potter, p-please, I don't know what you're talking about. I swear, I'll t-tell the truth, I got lost f-following my Prefect and I was trying to hide so I didn't get c-caught. I swear! Please, just don't aim that…" he pointed at the wand, "t-thing at me. Stop acting c-crazy, Potter!"

"HA! Crazy? What's crazy is the person trying to kill me telling me to lower my weapon!" Harry glared at him. "This is just a trick. I know who you really are."

"Potter! I haven't seen my father in years! He left my mother after the War, when I was just a kid. I don't know what you're—"

"Stop lying! You're him! You missed me the first time and now you've come back to finish the job!"

"Potter, for the love of Merlin!" Nott said, and took a step forward. "You—"

"NO! NO CLOSER!" Harry slammed his eyes shut and yelled out "_Depulso!_"

Harry fell backwards with the force of the spell and nearly knocked himself out. After clearing his head, he slowly stood and brought himself to open his eyes. Time froze, and all that Harry Potter could think is that he wished he hadn't opened them.

Theodore Nott had been Banished clear across the room, where he then slammed into old suit of armor. Together, they fell to the ground.

With the sword sticking right out of Nott's stomach.

Time unfroze.

There was a troll about to kill Hermione, professors en route, and a boy with a gladius in his gut lying in the hallway.

Tick, tock.

Tick, tock.


	7. Chapter 3: The Reckoning

Chapter 3

**Year One: The Reckoning**

**31 October 1991**

Tick, tock.

Tick, tock.

Eight seconds had passed since Harry James Potter sent a boy flying clear across the hallway with a Banishing Charm and impaled him on a previously decorative set of ancient Roman armor and its sword. It had been another thirty and two seconds after that since Ronald Bilius Weasley had run on without Harry in order to find and save their friend, Hermione Jane Granger. Harry knew that Neville would get the professors and that when he did, he would only have a couple minutes to clean up in the hall. He possibly had even less time before the troll… ate… Hermione, or whatever trolls do to small children. And he had to do all this with nothing but his own two hands and the handful of basic charms that he knew, in about eight seconds.

"Pressure makes diamonds", as they say!

.

* * *

.

Did you know that the average height of a legionnaire was just over one and one half meters? Or that many modern preteen boys are actually somewhat taller than that?

.

* * *

.

A summation of the following events, in spell:

"_Immobulus! Reparo! _Bugger!" Harry ripped off his shirt sleeve, "_Engorgio! Scourgify!_" Smack! Foosh, swish, flick. _"Wingardium Leviosa!_" Swish, flick, swish, flick. "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" Swish, flick, swish flick again. "Thanks for that one, Hermione. This way… this way…" Click, click, went the lock on the door. "_Alohamora!_" Click, open! This time it went right in. Dash out, slam the door. Click, shut! "_Colloportus!_" Try it again. Click, click, went the lock on the door. "Perfect! _Scourgify!_"

And off he went. There was no time to dawdle on details!

"Ron! Ron, Hermione, I'm on my way!"

Physically, Harry Potter was more than ten centimeters taller than Ron, with legs used to running back and forth across the pitch. He'd spent nearly one hundred and twenty seconds dealing with Nott, meaning any speed advantage he had was beyond gone. All he could do is run and run and run and run, the blood pounding in his ears. Ka-thum ka-thum ka-thum ka-thum, in time with his steps on the cold stone it went. He rounded another corner. That was when he heard a faint CLANG-smash, followed by an unforgettable shriek that could belong to only one person.

"Hermione! I'm coming! Where are you, Ron?"

Harry burst into the girls' restroom to find a giant gray… thing looming above everything, its head barely scraping the ceiling. He saw Ron in a corner, rubbing his head and groaning. He looked as if he'd been flung across the room. He could see Hermione's feet sticking out from under a stall, only to back up, away from the beast.

"Groooooooar!" went the troll.

Screech! went the girl.

"Harry! Oh Harry, do something!"

"I'll try! How do you even kill a troll?"

"I… I-I can't remember! Nothing from any of my books will even—" She stopped, then screamed out as the troll smashed downward with its club, crushing the entrance to her stall. "Harry, do something!"

:"I'm thinking! _Depulso!_" The troll skidded backwards a bit. "_Depulso!_" This time it held its ground. "That's not working either!" Ron threw a piece of debris at it. "Ron!"

He shrugged. "Did as much as your spell, I'd bet."

The troll turned from Hermione and leveled itself at Ron. "Did a little more, I'd bet. Now you've pissed him off!" Harry yelled. Too loudly, as it turned out. The troll squared off against Harry instead. The club came up.

"Bugger!" Harry dove out of the way. The club didn't come down. Harry looked up to see the troll still holding the club in the air. If trolls could smirk… well, that's what it was doing. Harry's eyes went wide, then shut and waited for the impending crunch of his brains on the porcelain of the sink

Smash! A great burst of wind blew by Harry.

He cracked open his eyes to see that the troll had just missed its target. A crater the size of an inflatable pool sat next to him. Harry felt like he was in a Leg-Locker Curse and desperately began firing every spell he could think of.

"_Depulso! Immobulus! Aguamenti!_"

"It's not the Wicked Witch of the West, Harry!" Hermione cried

The troll was not taken aback—though a little wet. It reared back its arm for another go and Harry cringed. It was then that Ronald Bilius Weasley said what might be the smartest thing he'd ever said in his whole entire life, maybe smarter than anything he'd ever say.

Swish, flick. "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

The club broke free from the troll's grip and floated in the air tenuously, shuddering with the inexperience of a first year caster. Wobble, wobble. The troll craned its head up confusedly. Unlike the humans it was trying to kill, the troll's brain was not large, nor mammalian. It was of unknown magical origin and roughly the size of a rather large grape, hence its inability to comprehend why its club was floating in the air—not that a person would necessarily be able to do so either. Suddenly, the club flew up! Then down! In what was suddenly a silent section of the castle, the sound of a SMASH-CRACK-squish-thud echoed throughout. Smash when the club hit the skeletal brain case, crack when that case was splintered and torn asunder, squish when the grey matter was hit, and thud when the troll collapsed to the ground. It was obviously dead.

Silence reigned.

Harry stood frozen, still staring at the severe indentation in the ground next to him.

Ronald was a little stunned himself.

Hermione was trembling as she picked her way through the debris and looked at Harry, then Ron, then back to Harry. She lunged at him.

"Oh, Harry!"

She grabbed him and held tightly and began sobbing. "I was s-s-s-so s-s-scared. I… I…" And she broke down again. "I could have died!"

Harry's face contorted. "Could have died…"

"Hey," Ron waved his hands in frustration, "I was the one—"

The clop-clop of footsteps interrupted him. "What is the meaning of this!"

Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore stood at the entrance to the lavatory. It was again deathly silent but for the choked sobs that escaped involuntarily from Hermione.

Ron tried first. "Well… that is to say, I… we…"

"I wanted to—" Hermione tried, before her voice betrayed her and choked up. "fight a t-t-troll. I had r-read about them and I thought I could…" She trailed off there and could say no more, as the pent up emotions of weeks of bullying and neglect and the trauma of nearly being killed by a nine foot tall gray thing all poured out by the bucket.

"Yeah," Ron piped up, "we noticed she hadn't showed up to the feast, so we went looking for her. Harry sent Neville to tell you while we ran after Hermione to make sure she was all right."

McGonagall turned to Harry. "Is that true? You sent Neville to warn us?" Harry barely moved, but shook out an almost imperceptible nod. McGonagall turned back to Ron. "I should take thirty points just for the racket he made back there," she gave a bit of a loose-lipped smile, "but I won't. Miss Granger's reckless behavior will cost your house ten points. As for you boys, five points to all three of you for your bravery and quick thinking in—"

Before she could finish her sentence, Harry had broken free from Hermione and run past Dumbledore, into the hall.

"Harry! Harry! Oh, come back!" Hermione yelled, and took off after him.

"Mister Potter! Miss Granger!"

"Peace, Minerva." Dumbledore said, as Harry's footsteps began trailing off down the corridor. "They've been through a rather traumatic experience. Let them recover themselves. I'm sure Mister Weasley can give us an accurate summary of what happened here in his own capacity."

Ron nodded vigorously and regaled them with the tale of how he had almost single-handedly defeated the troll. Both adults smiled and nodded appropriately, as they are wont to do.

.

* * *

.

Harry found himself back by the tapestry, where he'd found Nott. His memory was fuzzy, but he eventually found the door he was looking for and with a whispered _Alohamora_ slipped into the room undetec—

"Harry!"

Bugger.

"Harry… wait, please… I'm out of breath…"

She gasped for air for a few moments and continued. "Harry, you knew exactly where to find me and you saved me from the troll."

'Neville and Ronald respectively,' Harry thought.

"I… I don't know how to thank you. Why did you run away like that?"

Why had he run away like that?

Death. He'd almost died.

"Oh, god." Harry stumbled inside the unused classroom he'd just opened and again almost vomited. Hermione followed.

"Harry! Tell me what's wrong!"

"I almost died!" She was taken aback by the strength and volume of his voice. He'd nearly perforated her ear drum. He advanced on her with eyes painted by accusation and fear. "I could have been dead! If that troll didn't have worse vision than me without my glasses, I** would** be dead! I'm eleven years old and I almost got myself killed by chasing a stupid troll that some stupid person probably let into this stupid castle! If I never got that stupid letter and stayed in Little Whinging my whole life this wouldn't have ever happened. I wouldn't have even known trolls were real! Maybe I did have to live in a cupboard there, so what? At least I was alive and healthy! I…"

Harry stopped, knowing he had said more than he wanted. "I…" he started, but nothing came out of his mouth. His throat strained and strained, but no words emerged. He slumped to the floor.

"Oh god."

Harry Potter didn't cry. What he did was much worse. His back to the wall, he sat with his feet askew, shaking violently. It wasn't a seizure, but god knows THAT didn't make it any better. Hermione tried to sit next to him and comfort him, but he never responded to anything. She eventually settled for letting him shudder with his head in her lap as she stroked his hair awkwardly, alternating between light shushes and humming. Eventually his shaking slowed, and then stopped. His breathing became rhythmic and she let out a sigh of relief. Finally, he was asleep. "But let's not wake him now after all that, Hermione…" she whispered to herself. In minutes, she was asleep too.

.

* * *

.

Harry jerked awake, finding himself in the same abandoned classroom he'd passed out in. He still felt tired, so it couldn't have been too late, but… "Bugger, I'm late…" he muttered. He pried himself from the sleeping girl beside him. 'Why did she have to **do** that? I would have been fine,' he thought. He fired another _Immobulus_ to the corner of the room and creaked open the door, sliding out without waking Hermione. Harry maneuvered down the hallway with caution, not knowing whether or not curfew had passed. He snuck up to the Fat Lady and murmured "Carpe Noctem", which prompted her to open with a little "humph!". He scurried up to his dormitory with all quiet haste to find that everyone had already fallen asleep, including Ron. He found his pack and removed his shrunken, hidden broom, restoring it to normal size, then went back to digging. "Where is it, where is it?" he muttered, going through his library. Finally, he found Modern Magical History and ripped out the page he'd bookmarked. With that, Harry slipped back into the Common Room, pried open the window, and flew like a comet into the cloudy night.

"C'mon, c'mon, can't you go any faster? I'm a bloody wizard, go faster!" Harry grunted in frustration. Amazingly, the battered Cleansweep Five chugged on just a bit quicker. Magic!

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes into… well, had it been an hour? Two? Harry didn't know. He'd been squinting at the map of Wizarding Britain he'd stripped from his history book and trying to figure out where he was going when suddenly a few dots of light appeared on the horizon. "This must be it!" Harry exclaimed, bringing his broom in for a landing. He dropped in on the main street and saw the sign indicating he was in the right place.

"Welcome to Godric's Hollow." Harry whispered aloud.

Harry ambled his way into town, searching for his destination. It took him a good fifteen minutes before he arrived, drawn by the haunting, lit glow not created by fire or electricity. "Bugger, what time is it? _Tempus!_" Nothing happened. "Guess I should practice that some time…" he muttered as he pulled out a Muggle timepiece that read 11:53. "I made it. Thank god." He walked up to the ornate piece of marble and read the inscription.

_James and Lily Potter_

"_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."_

Tears welled in Harry's eyes, shining in the reflection of the marble tombstone. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but it always caught. He finally sat and drew a deep breath and began, "Hi Mum, hi Dad. It's me, Harry." He mustered a weak grin, "I finally came to visit. I hope you're not sad I waited so long. I didn't know where you were until I read about you in my school book. I finally made it to Hogwarts, just like you. Are you proud of me? I've been doing my best, I promise. Dumbledore is still there and so is Professor McGonagall. Oh, and…"

Harry stayed for what seemed like days and told them his whole life story, from the book to his first wand to his near-death experience in the forest, then to Diagon Alley and Hogwarts, finally getting to the confrontation with Nott and then the troll. "…and I don't know if I should tell Neville what happened. I mean, it all happened so fast and I need someone to explain it to so I can sort it out in my own head. He'll be stuck there for a while thanks to the Immobilizers I struck him with, but I don't know how he'll react. He said he would always help me, but I don't know what's going on with me. Every time something stressful happens I start getting all crazy. I'm so confused. What should I do, Mum? What should I do, Dad?"

There was no response.

There never was a response.


	8. Chapter 4: The Best Laid Plans

Chapter 4

**Year One: The Best Laid Plans**

**1 November 1991**

Lying still on the grassy hill of a small-town graveyard, a little boy's eyes fluttered slowly, then shot open in surprise and irritation. 'I fell asleep again…' It was still dark. He checked his Muggle timepiece again. 2:13. Harry groaned and lifted himself off the comfortable little spot he'd made on the knoll, stumbling a bit as he regained his footing. Brushing himself off, he mounted his weathered old broom, rocketing off into the night with his mind at a bit more peace than before.

Unfortunately, on the way back to Hogwarts reality began to beset him from all sides. The Nott boy was incapacitated in the unused classroom where Hermione was possibly still sleeping, with no guarantee that he could reach either without being caught by Filch or one of the professors. The realization flooded into Harry's brain that Nott could also be _dead_, a thought that tensed him up so badly that he nearly flipped his broom. Taking another life was beyond him… wasn't it? That wasn't something he'd even contemplated doing. Harry shook his head to clear those thoughts and pressed on toward Hogwarts. He arrived some time later and reopened the Gryffindor Common Room window, crawling through and slipping back up to his dormitory. He pulled back the curtain of one of the beds and saw…

"Neville!" he hissed, "Wake up!"

He didn't stir. Harry shook him and whispered in his ear. "Neville, wake up! And for Merlin's sake shhh, it's Harry!"

The young boy he'd stirred rubbed his eyes and squinted at, "Harry? Dinn't see you c'min las' night. Whassamatter?"

Harry groaned. "That's because I didn't come in last night. Hurry and wake yourself up, we've got a major problem to deal with right bloody now!"

At that, Neville shot up to his feet and looked at Harry with a terribly serious look. He nodded, and they both slipped down the stairs, out the portrait of the Fat Lady, and into the hall. Between skulking behind tapestries and hiding next to statues, Harry explained the situation to Neville…

**31 October 1991**

Harry looked down at the bleeding boy, stunned beyond measure for a fraction of a second. He sprinted over to Nott, who had taken a sizable blow to the head and was knocked out, either by the head trauma or from the sheer pain. The wound was rather gaping, but Harry noticed that it was sticking through some of the boy's pudge and prayed that it hadn't hit a vital organ.

Thinking fast, Harry shot him with an Immobilizer just to be sure he was out, then removed the sword and lamely tried a Fixing Charm on his injury. When that failed, he stripped some of the cloth from his shirt and enlarged it, covering and binding the wound with it after cleaning it with a charm. He then levitated the parts of the armor individually with a Hovering Charm and fit them onto Nott one by one until he was suited up nicely, otherwise invisible to anyone who didn't know better.

Next, Harry levitated the entire package into a locked room and placed him innocuously in the corner. Harried for time to get back to Hermione, Harry placed a low-level Locking Charm on the door, cleaned the bloody hallway, and ran after Ron.

**1 November 1991**

Neville shook his head in amazement. "And Nott is still in there?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed and whispered back, "but there's a problem. I think Hermione is in there too. We fell asleep after the troll incident and I left here there while I went…" Harry paused. "I had to take care of something."

Neville gave a slight nod in understanding and didn't press it further. "So? What's the plan?"

"I'm still mulling it over, but I think I've got something." They slipped into the room where Hermione was indeed still lying asleep on the wall, her hand still where Harry's head had been. "Here's the rough sketch." Harry took off his backpack and removed his cupboard-era bedroll from a compartment. "Someone needs to take Hermione back to the Gryffindor room and someone needs to stay here with Nott. Since she doesn't know you're helping me out, I'll be the one to take her back. I'll lock you in with _Colloportus_ and you can take the first watch of Nott, so to speak."

"That's fine for tonight," Neville said, "but what about once he wakes up? What are you going to do?"

Harry smiled his easy-going smile. "I've got that covered too. Tomorrow, you're going to go in to Madam Pomfrey and tell her you're having nightmares and you need something for it." At Neville's puzzled look, Harry elaborated with a grin. "Dreamless Sleep potion ring a bell?"

"Oh!" Neville whispered back. "You can keep him asleep…"

"Indefinitely. Exactly. That will give me time to figure out a better long-term solution, like… well, I suppose I had to learn Memory Charms at some point, eh Neville? Now let me see…" Harry was prying into the armor, looking for Nott's robes. He reached in for any pieces of parchment and found what he was looking for.

_Dear Mum,_

… … …

"Perfect." Harry said, then added another _Immobulus_ for good measure, though he doubted Nott was going anywhere, and bound his mouth with the other sleeve of his shirt. "Neville, I'm going to take Hermione now, hide behind the desk and take your rest. I'll come let you out in the morning."

"But Harry," Neville said, "won't they notice that a student is missing? Especially the night after a troll broke into the castle?"

Harry smiled the widest he had in months. "You just leave that to me. Now get behind the desk, hurry. I'll be back in a few hours."

Neville nodded, taking the bedroll and laying it out behind the desk. Harry knelt down to the sleeping ball of fuzz with a person attached and shook her lightly.

"Hey, 'Mione. Hermione, you have to wake up. We fell asleep."

Hermione rubbed her eyes and blinked at him with fuzzy recognition. "'Arry?"

He smiled. "Yeah, it's 'arry. C'mon, lean on me, I'll walk you back."

She gave a weary smile back and halfway fell on him, eyes still half shut. Harry nearly stumbled over, but made it to the door, and creaked it open. He shut it softly and whispered "_Colloportus_", then tried the door. Click click. Satisfied, he walked back to the Fat Lady with Hermione in tow. She was still asleep, murmuring a soft assent when he whispered the password again. He walked her to the stairs to her dormitory.

"C'mon Hermione, I can't go any further than this. Magic and such. You've gotta stand on your own two feet."

"Geroff," Hermione mumbled, "I can… mmgh. I can go. Wha' time is it, Harry?"

Harry smiled. "Late. You need to sleep in a real bed for a few hours, c'mon. I'll see you tomorrow, 'kay?"

"'Kay." She muttered sleepily as she shambled up the stairs. "G'night Harry…"

The door closed with a soft 'whump'. "Good night, Hermione…"

Harry couldn't sleep yet, though. There was one more errand to run.

.

* * *

.

Incidentally, no Hogwarts student before Harry Potter ever figured out that even professors and janitors need to sleep some time. There are virtually never any patrols after one in the morning in the halls of Hogwarts Castle, with the assumption that even students wouldn't be so foolish as to wander that late and miss valuable sleep. Clearly, Hogwarts staff underestimated the foolishness of teenagers by a significant margin. Even then, it took Harry until his third year to make this realization, by which time he had his father's invisibility cloak anyway.

The rich get richer.

.

* * *

.

The next morning, Harry woke up especially early and crept down to the main entrance of Hogwarts to see the fruit of his labour. He was pleasantly surprised to see not just Professor Snape, but even Dumbledore himself standing around where he'd left the scrap piece of parchment, having a heated discussion.

"—are positive, Severus?"

"Indeed, Headmaster. The Nott boy was not in his room this morning when I checked. This note claims that he has been planning this for quite some time, and that the troll was just his cover to leave under."

"And his father?"

Severus grimaced. "I did serve with him during… the darker time in my life." Harry involuntarily raised an eyebrow at that. "He escaped prosecution by claiming the Imperius Curse, but left his wife and young son soon after. However, the Nott boy is usually not so… Gryffindor-like in his impulsiveness. A consummate Slytherin if anything."

Dumbledore sighed. "That may have been his ploy all along. What the boy intends to accomplish by seeking his father out is as much a mystery to you as it is to me. You are sure the handwriting is his, Severus?"

The dark-haired man narrowed his eyes. "Of course I'm sure. I double-checked it with one of his Potions assignments. The handwriting is the same. Although…"

"Although?" Dumbledore said.

"There is something odd about the way the letter is written, but it isn't the handwriting." Harry grinned. 'That's what using the Color-Changing Charm to copy letters from one parchment to another will do, you greasy git.' "I can't quite place it, Headmaster, but it is likely a product of his hurried departure. I cannot sense any foul play in this."

Dumbledore sighed. "Then all we can do is notify his mother and search the grounds. It is unfortunate, but he is likely he is long gone if he did indeed leave on a contraband broom when the troll first arrived."

"Indeed, Headmaster." Snape drawled. "If there is nothing else to be done, I must see to my lessons for today. I have Potter and the Gryffindor brats today, so I'm sure it will take every ounce of my patience and effort just to teach them a single thing."

"Oh, come now Severus," Dumbledore said, with that damnable twinkle in his eye, "don't you think you're being just a mite hard on the boy? He is only eleven, after all."

"No, Headmaster." Snape replied, and walked off brusquely.

"I don't think you can deny that he's eleven years old, Severus!" Dumbledore called after him. Snape made… some kind of noise—was that a snort? He then rounded the corner and Dumbledore chuckled. Harry took that opportunity to sneak back to the Gryffindor Common to speak with Neville… "Oh bollocks."

'I left Neville with Nott!' Harry thought. 'It's a good thing it's still early…'

Harry ran down the halls, empty except for a few Prefects who had woken a bit early, until he found the unused room by the tapestry. He knocked. "Neville, it's Harry! Are you awake?"

Silence for a few moments, and then, "Yeah, I'm up. I was just checking on Nott. He's still stable, but I think he might be getting a fever. Come on in."

"_Alohamora._" Click, open went the door.

"Feverish?" Harry said. "Damn, he might be getting an infection. I'll ask Madam Pomfrey for a potion to take care of 'my' fever this afternoon. It's still pretty early Neville, but you should try Madam Pomfrey, see if she's awake. I'll wait here."

"Right. Be back soon." Neville ducked out the door and Harry locked it behind him. He checked on Nott.

"Just like Neville said… feverish," he muttered. Suddenly, Harry heard a groan. Nott began to stir. "Bugger! _Immobulus!_"

The boy trapped in the upright position stiffened again, his eyes still shut. Harry sighed. 'This is getting to be a pain in the arse. Might as well start brushing up on my Memory Charms while I wait."

Harry dug into his backpack's library and pulled out the seventh year Charms book and flipped to the chapter on Memory Charms.

_CAUTION: Memory Charms are generally considered optional in most courses because of their dangerous nature, but we will cover it here regardless in the event some teachers wish to teach the material. Users are warned against misuse of this Charm, as it can cause permanent damage to a wizard's mind._

_The concepts in this chapter will build on aspects of many of the Charms previously discussed, notably those in Book 5 and Book 6 which address…_

Harry rubbed his eyes and sighed. This was going to be a long bloody month.

.

* * *

.

Thirty minutes later, Neville returned with a bounty even Harry hadn't expected.

"Good lord Longbottom, that must be a year's worth of Dreamless Sleep! How did you pull that off?"

Neville looked awkwardly at his feet. "I sorta… told her I'd been having nightmares about, you know, my… my parents. How I was there when they…"

"Say no more, Neville."

He felt something… strange toward his companion hearing that, but couldn't pinpoint the source. That's because Harry Potter had never felt it before. It's called empathy, and it makes a funny feeling in your stomach when someone is the same as you in some terrible way. It is the purest emotion of all, but the one people wish they didn't have to have.

Neville had already told him the story of his parents' capture, how they were still in St. Mungo's, and Harry promised him he would do whatever it took to try to help them find a cure. Of course, Harry had no idea how the hell anyone would go about doing so, but it sounded awful nice coming out of his mouth, so he said it anyway. In present terms, Harry knew not all of that Dreamless Sleep would be for Nott.

"What's the dosage on this stuff anyway, Neville?" Harry asked.

"A small sip for every hour you want to sleep. A mouthful would put you out for three quarters of a day, but after that it doesn't really do much." Neville replied, grateful to change the subject. He didn't want to seem weak in front of the Boy-Who-Lived.

"That's good," Harry said. "We can give him a few drinks worth twice a day while I learn Obliviation. We might be doing this routine for a while though, Neville. Memory Charms are a bloody pain in the arse, plus I need someone to test it on who wouldn't mind, you know, having their brain turned to mush. I'll figure that part out later. For now, just the fundamentals are going to take forever. I'm good at Charms, but this… _shite_ is so obtuse!"

"You don't have to take it out on me, you know." Neville replied cheekily, tinged a bit red at Harry's foul mouth. "Let's just focus on the present. Learn your Memory Charms, I'll make sure to dose him. Oh, and just a warning… you might want to learn it before the month is out."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And why is that?"

"Because Madam Pomfrey says if you use Dreamless Sleep for too long at once, sometimes your brain DOES turn to mush. Sometimes you don't even wake up at all." Neville shuddered at the last prospect.

Harry sighed. "Great."

.

* * *

.

Incidentally, the last person to suffer such a fate was also a Slytherin progeny. Bartemius Crouch Jr., who was being held captive under the Imperius Curse at this very moment by his father and house elf, Winky. When little Barty would convulse under the weight of his failure to serve the Dark Lord, Winky would graciously tend to him with Dreamless Sleep potions. Unfortunately for poor Barty, the constant dosages made him even crazier than he was before and get ever more upset about those who dared come from the wrong person's seed and eggs.

This would, naturally, compound his role in Harry Potter's life a great deal.

.

* * *

.

Neville and Harry made it to the Great Hall in time for breakfast. They could overhear concerning talk from the Slytherin table about a runaway student, but no one mentioned anything about foul play—to their relief. Ron shot them both a look, but turned to Harry first.

"So mate, why didn't you come in last night?"

Harry shrugged. "I did, you must have been asleep. I talked to Neville for a bit before I went to sleep, right Nev?"

Neville had a piece of breakfast sausage in his mouth, but nodded nevertheless.

"Is it because he's from a rich pureblood family, Harry? Is that it?" Ron demanded. "Are you one of those people like Malfoy who only associates with the 'right crowd'? I really thought—"

"That is enough Ronald!"

All eyes turned toward the new voice that had just made it to the table, a frizzy-haired witch with a book clutched to her chest. "Harry has been nothing but nice to you, and to me for that matter—and I'm not even a pureblood! So take it back!"

Ron was lit up like a Christmas tree, but without the green lights. So, you know, just the red. He swallowed (presumably his shame) and murmured, "Sorry Harry."

Harry smirked. "I didn't catch that Weasley, could you repeat it?"

"I said I was sorry!" Ron snapped. "You can take it or leave it!"

"Relax, I'm kidding. Besides, I think I'll take it…" Harry paused. "But you'll have to do something for me in return.

Ron eyed Harry suspiciously. "What is it?"

Harry grinned. "Could I use your rat to practice a certain spell on?"

.

* * *

.

**15 November 1991**

"Harry! Wake up you prat!"

Harry's eyes flickered open and he sighed. "What is it Ron?"

"It's your first Quidditch game!" Ron answered. "What are you doing still in bed?"

"'Still?'" Harry replied incredulously. "It must be six in the morning, I'm sleeping is what I'm bloody well doing!"

"How can you possibly sleep in on the day of— oof!" Ron grunted as he tumbled to the floor, felled by a pillow missile from Neville's bed, where the Longbottom boy was smirking at him.

"Heard you talking about sleeping in, thought you might need a pillow, _Weasley_."

"Hey!" Ron yelled, then chucked the pillow right back at Neville who dodged and stuck his tongue out. Big mistake, as a second pillow from the direction of Harry's bed smacked him right in the face.

"Not so high and mighty now, are we _Longbottom_?"

Before Neville could respond, a double pillow assault came flying from the last bed of the room right toward Harry, who dodged one but was punished by the second.

"That's pretty funny coming from the Boy-Who Lived, _Potter_!" Seamus yelled.

Their puerile war went on for nearly half an hour as alliances were made, broken, then mended again. In the end, the winner was Ron, who managed to somehow get all three on his side at the same time and declared himself king. The boys all got a good laugh out of that before smacking Ron one last time and finally leaving the room.

As Harry made his way to the pitch, he contemplated using his Cleansweep Five over the Nimbus 2000 McGonagall had acquired for him. He knew he wasn't supposed to have it and that the Nimbus was technically superior in speed and acceleration, but the Cleansweep had a familiarity to it that Harry liked, not to mention its superior turning radius. Feeling daring, Harry decided to sneak the Cleansweep out of his pack before he met with the rest of the team and clutched it tight as he ran towards the pitch.

The pillow fight made him the last to arrive, which didn't exactly make Oliver happy. That fact did not stop him from giving a rousing speech about how it was their year and the Slytherin era was over and yip yip fuckin' yip. Harry tuned it out, but couldn't deny that he was excited to get on the pitch. He rationalized it as a way to improve his broom skills, but Harry knew that the moment he hopped on a broom, the adrenaline would course through his veins and the thrill he couldn't get anywhere else would return. He knew it, so he kept coming back.

.

* * *

.

It seemed like just a moment had gone by. Harry closed his eyes to swallow down his nervousness, and then he was suddenly on the pitch, straddling his broom. Madam Hooch threw the quaffle in the air, and just like that his first game began. Harry let Johnson grab the Quaffle first as he weaved a path behind two of the Slytherin chasers, then dodged a Bludger and rolled under a Beater with an acrobatic swoop, grasping the pass from Angelina and rattling the hoop with his first ever Quidditch goal. The crowd erupted in a roar that surprised even him, and the announcer he'd been tuning out suddenly came through.

"…and Potter scores with the Quaffle in his first game ever with an amazing display of acrobatics and a brilliant throwing motion! Gryffindor leads 10-0!"

Harry let a bit of a smirk slip onto his face, an expression which was nearly wiped off clean by an incoming Bludger smashed at him by a Slytherin beater.

"Oi! The Quaffle's not even back in play yet!" Harry heard Fred yell as he smacked the offending Beater with the other Bludger. "Shove off, Snake!"

The game continued more or less like this for a good while, with the Twins more or less defending Harry the duration of the match. This meant that Harry was under duress the entire game, but it also meant that the other Chasers were allowed to roam free. The Gryffindors had built a 180-80 point lead before the Snitch was sighted. Bell and Higgs simultaneously dove for it and Bell had nearly caught the snitch when the two became entangled and almost crashed into the ground. The Snitch took that opportunity to speed away and hide itself again.

Harry groaned at that. Dodging the Bludgers that Fred and George missed was starting to get old. Suddenly, his Cleansweep began bucking out of control like a raging bronco. Harry clutched it for dear life as it rocked and swayed violently. He glanced desperately to where he knew Neville was sitting, only to find that he was gone. Suddenly, the broom stopped jerking as Harry heard a colossal crashing sound from the northeast stands. He looked over and his jaw dropped.

The entire northeast stands had collapsed.

But it was still in the air.

There Albus Dumbledore stood, performing what is to this day the largest display of power ever seen in a simple Hovering Charm. Panicked, the Gryffindor players began to swoop over and pick up terrified spectators, helping them escape the crumbling wooden construct. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Neville Longbottom in the eastern stands adjacent to the hovering disaster area… _fleeing_? Looking closer at the supports, he saw that a significant corner had been slashed away by Cutting Hexes. As Harry watched the situation unfold with awe, he heard the shriek of Madam Hooch declaring that the game was over.

Slytherin had won. But not before a Bludger crushed Harry in the back and sent him tumbling down to earth.

.

* * *

.

Rather than save their own Head of House, the Slytherin Beaters and Seeker had continued playing. Higgs had grabbed the Snitch and the Beaters one-timed a rocket of a Bludger at Harry. Fred and George saw what had happened and were absolutely livid. As Harry struggled to maintain consciousness amidst the blinding pain and the difficulty of regaining control of his broom, he managed to break a smile as the other Bludger impacted with one of the Slytherin Beaters' face, sending him flying off his broom about five feet from the ground. They gang tackled the other and started punching his lights out.

Pandemonium reigned on the pitch.

.

* * *

.

When all was said and done, there were no deaths that day at Hogwarts, a miracle in itself. Harry himself had nearly had his back broken, but was brought to Madam Pomfrey in time to stop the fracture from worsening. The Slytherin Beater who'd been hit with a Bludger suffered a severe concussion and would not attend school for the remainder of the semester. The other Beater came away a bit luckier, with just a broken nose and jaw to his name.

A bitter argument between Professors Snape and McGonagall prevented justice from being served to either party, as both sets of Beaters were allowed to remain on the team—with a month of detentions and month-long suspensions from all non-Quidditch activities, of course. And speaking of suspensions, the person who destroyed the ones holding up the northeast stands was never caught by Professor Dumbledore. Harry Potter, on the other hand, knew exactly who it was.

"Neville Longbottom, you sodding wanker." Harry grinned from his bed in Pomfrey's ward. "What did you do?"

Neville beamed at his words. "It wasn't that crazy Harry. I saw your broom being hexed and tried to find the person in the crowd doing it. I saw Professor Snape mouthing something and maintaining eye contact with you, so… I sorta did the first thing that came to mind. I couldn't get over to that part of the stands so I hit the supports with a couple of Cutters and hoped it would wobble a little. I had no idea it would actually fall over."

Harry sighed. "Neville, if you're going to save my arse, just make sure there's less collateral damage next time, can we settle on that?"

Neville nodded.

"Malfoy and anyone else who says you belonged in Hufflepuff can sod off. That was the most Gryffindor thing I've ever seen anyone do in my life!" Harry said.

Neville rolled his eyes. "Whatever." But Harry could see that Neville was soaking it up for all it was worth. "I would have just stopped Snape directly, but I don't really know any other serious hexes other than the Cutting Hex, and I sure as Sirius Black wasn't going to hit him with one!"

At the mention of the man who killed his parents, Harry's expression went dark. Neville paled at that. "S-sorry Harry, didn't mean to make that reference. Just a force of habit."

He held his anger. "Just… try not to do that again. And try not to kill half the professors ever again either, for Merlin's sake. You could have been caught and expelled! What the hell man!"

Neville's head hung so low it was practically touching the ground.

Harry's expression softened a bit. "Look, I know your intentions were good, and I'm glad you stepped in. Bloody well may have saved my life. But if you get kicked out of Hogwarts, who am I going to have to lean on? I certainly can't count on Malfoy." Neville smiled a bit at that. "Look mate, just promise me you'll use discretion next time, learn a few more hexes, something that can stun but not kill, all right?"

A smile tugged on Longbottom's face as he backed out the door. "Sure thing. Oh, and catch!" Harry's hands shot up from his seated position to grab the book Neville had launched at him. Seventh grade Charms indeed. Injury or not, Harry had to learn the Memory Charm before Nott's mind was too rotted through for it to matter. He was almost there practically, he just had to get a few more of the core theory principles down and…

"Harry!"

He looked up to see Ron and Hermione standing in the door where Neville had been a few moments ago.

"Ron. Hermione. Come to visit the old dying man, eh?"

Ron chuckled at this until Hermione stifled him with a glare, which she then turned on the Boy-Who-Lived-Again. "That's not funny Harry! You really could have died! When that Bludger hit you I… I…" She struggled with the words.

"Bawled like a baby?" Ron offered. That earned him a

SLAP!

"You prat! I was worried about Harry being alive and all you can do is make fun of me?" Her face took a dark turn. "I suddenly find myself caring much less about the Hogwarts rules regarding spellwork in the hall."

Ron blanched at this, but was saved by Harry. "Enough, c'mon you two. Focus your anger on the guys who put me in this tiny little bed."

"Maybe I will." Hermione replied with a huff. "I've read about a few ideas for spells that would be perfect for that hulking gorilla."

Harry burst out laughing at this. Hermione outright insulting someone? Small miracles.

"Oh, but I'm being rude too! Harry, when does Madam Pomfrey say that you'll be able to leave?"

Harry mustered another weak grin. "Soon as the potions she gave me kick in. I'll probably end up coming back right at the end of the weekend, with my luck. Just in time for classes."

Ron's expression gave away his displeasure with that. "No one else in Gryffindor is half as good as you are at chess or Snap. It's gonna be a boring weekend without you mate, especially with all the third years and up going to Hogsmeade."

"As opposed to my predicament," Harry replied, "with the whole 'back nearly broken' issue, which isn't nearly as dire as having no chess buddies."

"Har har." Hermione tut-tutted. "Just… rest for a while. Get better soon, okay Harry?" She leaned over to wrap a hug around his shaggy, raven-adorned head when she saw the book he was reading. "Seventh year Charms? What on earth are you reading that for Harry? We don't learn that—"

"For another six years, yeah, I know. There's something in here I really need to find out about, that's all." Harry said. "Take my word for it, not a big deal."

Ron shrugged. "I'm just amazed you can read that far ahead mate. I know Charms is your thing, but I can barely make passing grades in first year work."

"That's because you never read your textbook you great big oaf!"

And with that they were off again, and wouldn't stop the entire way back to the Gryffindor Common Room.

'Finally, peace at la—'

"Potter."

'Or, you know, not.'

"Malfoy. Crabbe. Goyle. Takes a lot of guts to strut in here like that." Harry said as he idly twirled his wand. "Bedridden or not, I can still fire a hex or two."

"Oh sod off Potter," Malfoy said. "I had nothing to do with what happened. It is, however, why I am here. I just wanted to remind you of our truce. I had nothing to do with what happened out there on the pitch. These barbarous cretins think that because I'm a first year means that they can defy me, but they'll learn soon enough the power that comes with the Malfoy name."

"I'm sure."

"Cut the crap, Potter. I came to remind you that our agreement is still on, nothing more. Your snide remarks aren't doing much to help the situation."

Harry sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry." Draco's eyes widened ever so slightly with surprise at that. "As you can imagine, I'm in a bit of pain and maybe just a little irritable right now, so don't be too shocked that I'm a little cross at the Snakes right now."

"Whatever you say, Potter. I—"

"Mister Malfoy." Professor McGonagall stepped into the room. 'More guests, really?' Hermione was right behind her, back again. 'Oh for the love of god.' McGonagall stared him down. "Are you bothering Mister Potter while he is bedridden?"

"Not at all, Professor." Draco said. "In fact, I was just leaving. Potter, I will handle this matter in-House, so no meddling!"

With that, he turned an about face and walked out of the room, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry watched after them. "It's so odd how at Hogwarts there's such clear leadership roles developed so early on compared to the Muggle world," he thought aloud.

"Oh, right," Hermione scoffed, "Draco Malfoy, Lord of the Flies."

Both Harry and McGonagall gave her queer looks at that. "Oh come now Harry, you were raised by Muggles, you should know this!" Hermione said.

"Was that a movie that came out last year?" Harry asked.

Hermione was practically livid. "It was a **book**!"

"Oh."

"One of the best-selling books of all time!" she yelled.

"So what's the joke?" Harry asked.

"It's not a joke," Hermione said, shaking her head at his ignorance, "it's a reference. Lord of the Flies is a book about a group of children who are stranded on an island. They form alliances, tribes, and eventually turn on each other. The point is that even without adults to influence them, humans will always have the same basic characteristics. In a place like Hogwarts, with such minimal supervision, these kinds of bonds form terribly quickly and are very tough to break, especially with the House system as it is."

Seeing the quizzical look McGonagall was giving her, she amended herself. "No Professor, I explained that wrong… I meant extraordinarily fast, not terribly fast. It's not necessarily a bad thing, just… different from the Muggle world. Almost like kids here have to grow up faster to deal with their independence.

McGonagall nodded curtly. "That well may be, but my original intent was to see how you were doing, Mister Potter."

"Fine, Professor," Harry said, "though I think I won't be playing Quidditch ever again."

McGonagall cocked an eyebrow. "Nonsense. This sort of thing almost never happens, and certainly not against Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. At least play those two games and see how it goes, all right Harry?"

He shrugged. "Whatever you say, Professor."

She smiled. "Glad to see you are doing well, then. Good day, Mister Potter."

As she walked out, Hermione moved closer to Harry and whispered in his ear, "I know someone was trying to curse you."

Harry chuckled. "Of course they were. You don't have to whisper, Hermione."

She flushed a little at this, having forgotten that McGonagall was the only other person who had been in the room. "Sorry… wait, you know?"

"Of course. It was my broom being cursed, after all, I would think I would know."

"I saw Professor Snape staring at you and chanting while you were shaking up there, too."

Harry lifted an eyebrow. "Continue."

"Logically, that leads to two possible conclusions. One is that Professor Snape, a Hogwarts professor in good standing with Professor Dumbledore was cursing you—"

"Not unlikely considering how much he hates me."

"Yes, yes, but there's another possibility. He might have been chanting the counter-curse to whatever was making your broom get violent like that."

Now Harry was interested. "But that person would also have had to been on the same platform with Snape if the collapse was what stopped him."

"Right. That means it was either a visitor or—"

"Another professor."

Hermione nodded. "Whatever way you look at it, someone is out to get you."

Harry groaned. "I came here to get away from all that…"

"What are you going to do?"

Harry thought for a moment. "For now, I'm going to let my back heal and you're going to go back to the Common Room and have fun. We'll figure this out once I'm feeling better."

"Are you sure, Harry?"

"Positive. Today was a rough day, we all need some rest."

She nodded reluctantly and swiftly shuffled out of the room. Harry sighed and closed his eyes. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered why the world couldn't just let him be. Oh, but what fun would that be, Harry?

.

* * *

.

**27 November 1991**

This was it. He had finally gotten Memory Charms to work well enough that it was time to release Nott. It was good timing; his wound wasn't nearly well-tended to enough and might have become gangrenous. 'If this works, Nott can go to Pomfrey without issue and this whole bloody mess will finally be over with.'

It was lunch, so no one would be in the area. Just in case, he had Neville patrolling his path, ready to alert him if anyone came by. Harry slipped by the tapestry and found the door. A whispered _Alohamora _unlocked the door and Harry slowly creaked open the door and peeked his eye inside. The suit of armor was still there. Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry threw open the door. 'This is actually happening. This is going to—'

"Well well, Harry Potter. Now just what might you be doing here sneaking into the room where a missing student is?"

Harry whipped around to face his accuser.

"How did you—"

"I think you'll be the one answering the questions here, Harry Potter."

Oh, now it's on.


	9. Chapter 5: The Holiday Spirit

Chapter 5

**Year One: The Holiday Spirit**

**27 November 1991**

Harry remained silent and defiant in the face of his accusers.

"Not responding doesn't make you look any less guilty, ickle Harrykins."

"Unless, of course, you can explain why you were sneaking into this unused classroom,"

"All alone,"

"And during lunch, I might add!"

"Well stated, brother."

"Same to you."

Harry glanced back and forth between the two. His hand was already tensely gripped around his wand, but they already had both their wands trained on him. "Fred. George."

"The very same," they replied in unison.

"Mind explaining what you're talking about?"

Fred shook his head. "You see, we heard talk from the Slytherins about a firstie who left the school under suspicious circumstances."

"Imagine our surprise," George continued, "when we discovered that the very same Theodore Nott was still in Hogwarts and that the Boy-Who-Lived himself knew where he was."

Harry narrowed his eyes, with a mixture of suspicion and fear. His stomach had nearly dropped out of him at this point. "And how do you think you know all this?"

"Ah, ah, ah," Fred replied, "You answer our questions and maybe, if we feel like your answer is good, we might—"

"_Petrificus Totalis!_"

Fred dropped like a stone. George whirled around to meet the new threat, a dangerous mistake. No one should ever turn their back on Harry Potter.

"_Incarcerous!_"

George's wand clattered to the ground. He was forced to his knees by the bindings Harry had conjured around him. Harry bound Fred the same way as Neville walked into view with a smirk on his face.

"Little Longbottom got the drop on me?" George whined. "Unfair, absolutely ludicrous—"

"Shut up." Harry snapped. "I was wondering where you went, you cheeky bugger."

Neville grinned. "I saw them coming your way and followed them. I just had to wait for them to get distracted."

"Oh no," George whined. "I knew we shouldn't have stowed the map away."

"Map?" Harry thought aloud. "Whatever, shut up. Neville, help me get these two inside the Nott room."

Harry drug George while Neville took care of the immobilized Fred. Locking the door behind them with a _Colloportus_, Harry undid the curse on Fred and leveled his wand at them.

"Now, tell me, how did you know he was in here?"

Fred shrugged. "You tell us why you're doing this,"

"And we might tell you how we found you."

Harry sighed. He could just Obliviate them later if he wanted to. "Fine. On Halloween, your brother and I went to save a first year from the troll. Remember that?" Both nodded. "Well, on the way I dropped my wand in a rush and Ron went on ahead. As soon as I grabbed my wand, I was ambushed by a Slytherin who had been lying in wait. Any guesses?"

The twins looked to each other. "Theodore Nott," they replied together.

"The very same. When I fought back, I knocked him into a suit of armor by mistake and he was sort of… stabbed. Heavily. So I had two choices: either hide him here—"

"Or get brutally punished for nearly killing a student." Fred interjected.

"Not that it wouldn't be worth it for a Slytherin, you know."

"That's how I see it, Fred. So I've been learning nothing but Obliviation for almost a month so I can wipe this wanker's memory and drop him somewhere. Surely you understand."

Fred and George stared at one another. Then they kept doing it. For nearly a minute, they continued waggling their eyebrows and making cheeky faces at each other, their awkward brand of twin communication. Neville glanced at Harry with a look of confusion. Harry just shrugged.

"Okay Harry, we're in." Fred said, with a look of mischief in his eye.

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "In on what?"

"Getting you off the hook, of course." George said. "You really think we'd let a Snake get the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Steal-Our-Sister's-Heart expelled? Not a chance."

"How are you going to do that?" Harry asked as he undid the ropes on the twins. Then he frowned. "Wait, your who's what?"

"Don't worry about it." Fred smiled and withdrew a piece of parchment from his pocket. "You wanted to know how we found you? Take a look."

Harry stared at the paper, but it was blank. "Is this supposed to be funny? Neville, can you see anything on this?"

"Not a thing."

Fred and George stood and dusted off their robes. "Allow me," Fred said. "_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!_"

Harry looked on as Fred tapped the parchment with his wand as he said those words. Suddenly, the parchment came alive with ink and Harry watched with amazement as the twins opened it to its full size and showed him what was inside.

"It's a map of Hogwarts!" Harry said.

The twins grinned. "And everyone in it. Secret passages and everything. We tried making a copy, but the enchantments are way too complicated."

"So that's how you figured out where Nott was," Harry realized. "His name is right there on the map, next to ours. Good god, is there anyone else who knows about this map?"

"Not a soul,"

"Other than the original creators, of course,"

"Not that we have any idea who Prongs, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Moony are. We nicked it from Filch."

Harry smiled with more relief than he had felt for a month as he pored over every glorious detail of the hand-crafted map. "This is bloody brilliant. We can get Nott back to the Hogwarts entrance without being spotted!"

"But Harry," Neville said with a frown, "lunch is almost over. We have to wait until later."

Harry swore. Neville was right. Classes were about to kick up and he suddenly felt much less comfortable about keeping a captive now that someone had found out his plan. The list of people he was forced to trust was growing faster than he could control it.

"We'll do it dinner tonight." Harry said with some reluctance. "That's when everyone but Filch is at dinner, and we can avoid him easily enough with this map."

"That's the Marauder's Map to you, ickle Potter,"

"Indeed, brother. The Marauders are heroes to pranksters around the world and must be treated with due respect."

Harry rolled his eyes. "The Marauder's Map then, whatever."

The Marauder's Map was a magical artifact created by four young men named James Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. It shows the entirety of Hogwarts as explored by those four, as well as any occupants therein. One of the makers was dead, one assumed dead, and another dead to the world. The only one alive had been transformed into a state that made him turn into a raving, hairy maniac once every thirty days or so.

If Filch wasn't a Squib, you'd think he'd cursed it.

.

* * *

.

After all the tense moments and danger for Harry over the past month (including a shakedown from Marcus Flint that nearly concussed him the week before), the Nott situation was settled relatively peacefully. Just before dinner, Harry Obliviated Nott of all the memories of Halloween night and the following extended slumber. The boys, using the Marauder's Map to navigate around Filch's patrols, managed to get Nott back to the entrance to Hogwarts. Harry had decided not to leave a note or any kind of indication of what had happened. With a little sadness, Harry did break apart his Cleansweep Five which had served him so well and left the pieces scattered just outside the castle. The scenario he had concocted went something like this:

_Nott, while searching for his father, ran into some kind of trouble. He was wounded in his stomach and had flown back to Hogwarts and crashed his broom, shattering it into a thousand pieces. He managed to stumble inside before collapsing from his injuries, sustained from an unknown battle, waiting to be found by the Hogwarts staff._

Sound about right?

Incidentally, the way Obliviation—and all magic really—works is simple. There is power in specificity. And so the more broad the memory, the more difficult it is to erase. Memory modification is even more difficult. For a first-year, no matter how skilled, such talent is out of reach. Erasing one night and a period spent only in sleep is not nearly as difficult as erasing a week, a month, or a lifetime, not to mention if that period of time had new memories inserted into it. Not even Voldemort himself had the power to give someone an entire life's worth of memories. Merlin, perhaps, but he was dead long before the Memory Charm was created.

After leaving him there, the boys rushed back to the Great Hall. Dinner was just starting as they joined their classmates. With a wink and a smile, the twins left Harry to sit with the Quidditch clique. Midway through their meal, the uproar began when Filch burst into the room and interrupted what had been a lovely dinner.

"Headmaster! There's something you have to see!"

"Settle yourself, Argus," Dumbledore said. "What is it you wish to show me?"

"It's near the castle entrance, hurry Headmaster!" Argus yelled.

The student body watched as the two left the room, then shrugged and went back to eating. Most assumed Filch had lost his list of banned items or something equally petty. Harry and the Weasleys gave each other nervous looks. Neville poked at his food. A few minutes later, Dumbledore swept back into the Great Hall.

"Severus, you are needed in the Infirmary. Students, if I may have your attention?"

A hush settled over the student body as Snape rushed out of the room, cape billowing in his wake. Most of them had never seen Dumbledore speak so seriously. Professor Quirrell followed Snape soon after, leaving the rest of the staff and students staring at Dumbledore in trepidation.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. A-hem-hem-hem. "It seems as if one of our prodigal students has returned to us. As you may know, a first year left the school grounds recently on personal business. I have just been informed that he has made his return to the castle, with severe injuries."

The class had begun to murmur as soon as he mentioned the missing first year, but with the news that one of their own was wounded the Slytherin table fell into a quake of noise.

"Enough!" Dumbledore boomed. Silence reigned again. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I feel I must use this occasion to reiterate my warnings to you. Stay on Hogwarts grounds at all times, do not enter the Forbidden Forest, and most certainly do not enter the locked room on the Third Floor. I felt that I had been quite clear on this matter, but it seems that I was wrong. A student has been seriously injured because of a violation of these rules. Please remember to take these warnings more seriously than young Mister Nott did and you will not suffer the same fate. That is all."

With that, Dumbledore took his seat once again. The roar from all four House tables was deafening as the news rocked the student body.

"Why did he leave?"

"Where did he go?"

"Who attacked him?"

Yip yip.

In the midst of the uproar, Harry felt himself being drug away by Fred and George. Hermione, Ron, and Neville looked at him quizzically, but Harry just shrugged as the twins lead him to a corner of the Great Hall where a few small wooden chairs sat unoccupied.

"Take a look at this, Harry." Fred unfurled the Marauder's Map and pointed to the third floor. Harry sat puzzled for a moment as he figured out what he was looking at. His eyes smiled wider than his lips when he saw what they were pointing out.

George grinned along with him. "Dumbledore mentioned the locked door upstairs, so we took a peek to see if anyone was there. Sure enough…"

"Quirrell and… who's that moving towards him? That's Snape!" Harry said.

"Guess neither of them were really going to the Infirmary, those rotten gits." George muttered.

"So what are we waiting for?" Harry asked. "Let's go see what the hell they're doing!"

Fred and George looked to each other, then grinned at Harry. "We have just the thing."

.

* * *

.

"How on earth did you…?" Harry whispered.

"A little ingenuity goes a long way, Boy-Who-Spied." Fred whispered back.

"Our Multisense Mirror is rather simple when you think about it." George chimed in.

They were crouched outside the third floor corridor, just around the corner. George was holding a small mirror around the corner that, as they explained it, acted as an expanded mirror. Not only did it reflect sights, but sounds, smells, and even tastes. When George caught the right angle around the corner…

"…that I am so ignorant as to let you slink back here again? Taking advantage of an injured student is low, even for pond scum like you, Quirinus."

Quirrell stumbled and muttered through an excuse before being cut off by Snape's harsh voice. "I know what you're after! And I have a right mind to put an end to it right here. The stone will not leave this cas—"

Suddenly, with a speed never seen from the doddering fool he seemed, Quirrell lunged forward and grabbed Snape's left forearm. Snape had already drawn his wand, but before he could cast a spell he suddenly let loose an earth-shattering scream of agony that shook Harry and the twins to their core. George had to turn the mirror away for a moment so as to not hear the full volume of his pain. Snape rolled his sleeve up and clutched the tattoo on his inner arm and rent his skin to try to make the pain stop, as Quirrell loomed over him with a sneer.

Harry turned to the twins. "Snape has a tattoo?"

"Merlin, Harry, do you know what that is?" George whispered. "That's the Dark Mark! Only You-Know-Who's most trusted followers have those!"

Harry's heart nearly stopped. "So he's a… a Death Eater?"

Fred opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Quirrell, who had quite suddenly lost his stutter.

"The Dark Lord didn't want this for one of his loyal followers, but you have interfered for too long, Severus. Thanks to that oaf Hagrid and his dragonlust, I know all about 'Fluffy' and his weakness. And I'm sure Fluffy will love a little snack now. Ah, but you've passed out from the magical drain, you can't hear a word I've said. Pity, we could have avoided this. _Colloportus_." Quirrell chuckled as he magically shoved Snape into the room and locked it, then made an about face towards the Great Hall. Harry and the twins saw him coming and panicked, ducking behind a tapestry.

"Watch the map," Harry hissed. "To be sure he's gone."

.

* * *

.

As it happens, the Dark Mark is a powerful bit of magic invented by the Dark Lord himself. It is modeled on the Protean Charm, but is very different in that there is a 'primary' source of magic rather than an evenly distributed enchantment. Each Mark is inherently tied to Voldemort and his magic. Even in such a primordial form, Voldemort still held control of the magic that linked each Dark Mark together, even if it was faded. The only way to be freed from the Mark was by release from Voldemort himself or if Voldemort died.

This meant that the Mark was a point of no return. Any man who took it placed himself and his magic under direct command of the Dark Lord, to be taken away at his slightest whim. Where they got the idea that putting their lives in the hands of the most insane man who lived in the 20th Century (certified posthumously by the International Association of Applied Psychology) was a good plan is beyond imagination.

.

* * *

.

After a moment, they heard Quirrell's footsteps pass perilously close by them, only to drift down the hall and eventually fade into silence. Harry leapt out and ran toward the mysterious third floor door.

"Harry!" Fred yelled as they worked to catch up to him. "What are you doing?"

"Getting Snape! You heard Quirrell!" Harry replied.

"Heard him what?" George asked. Fred looked at him quizzically.

Harry sprinted to door and yelled, "_Alohamora!_" He yanked open the door to find a terrifying sight. A three-headed dog had his paw on Snape's chest and two of his heads loomed over him, snapping his jaws and drooling over his limp body. Harry drew his wand.

"Hey mutt!"

The dog's third head snapped to attention at him. Harry flipped his wand at the dog. "Let me try this new spell out. _Aguamenti!_" Harry drenched the dog's three heads in water. As the dog made to shake it off, Harry grinned. "_Glacius!_"

The water that had covered Fluffy hardened into ice and froze his faces into a howling grimace. Harry held his wand to the dog, intensifying the spell. "Fred, George! Hurry, get Snape out of here!"

"That's Professor Snape to you, Harry!"

"Just because you're the Boy-Who-Lived doesn't mean you can disrespect your—"

"Just shut up and move him!" Harry yelled.

"Aye aye, captain!"

Fred and George heaved his limp body over their broad shoulders and hefted him out of the room. Harry's face contorted into a grimace as he finally was forced to break the spell as Fluffy roared and broke the ice, snapping forward at Harry. He barely sidestepped the bite, breathing heavily and worn out from holding the Freezing Charm for nearly fifteen seconds. Harry limped out of the door and shut it, to the dismay of the giant dog.

"C… co… _Colloportus._" Harry murmured weakly as he slumped against the door. Fred and George sat next to him, the sagging body of Severus Snape lying next to them.

Harry sighed. "Is he…"

"Alive?" Fred asked. "Unfortunately, the slimy git is still breathing,"

"Though I'm sure we could fix that,"

"Not that we should,"

"We're just saying."

Harry groaned. "Great. Just let me catch my breath so we can get him out of here. Quirrell said he worked for the Dark Lord, so if Snape was in his way he can't be all bad. Fred, check the map. Where is Quirrell?"

"Back in the Great Hall, the dirtbag." George replied. Then his eyes widened. "Oh no…"

"What, what is it?" Harry demanded.

"Someone's coming." George said, grimacing. "It's McGonagall. We've got to run!"

Harry struggled to lift himself to his feet, but one last flood of adrenaline gave him the strength to push on. "What about Snape?"

"Leave him!" Fred yelled and pointed to the map. "She'll be here in no time flat. We have to take the pathway behind the pedestal holding the sculpture of the Whomping Willow. It'll take us around near the Gryffindor Commons. Hurry!"

.

* * *

.

A few hours later, the motley collection of Gryffindors that Harry had been forced to incorporate himself with sat around the fire in the Common Room, whispering heavily between themselves.

"But we have to tell the professors about Quirrell!" Hermione exclaimed. "We can't just let him wander the halls attacking people at random."

"Hermione," Harry interjected, "that does sound nice. The problem is that we're a bunch of first years and Quirrell is a professor. They'll never believe us."

Fred stepped in. "Some of us are seconds, ickle firstie. Plus we'd have to explain what we were doing down there and how we found Snape, which means we'd have to explain the map."

George glared at his twin. Ron looked confusedly between them. "What map?"

Harry groaned. 'Idiot!'

"Later, ickle Ronniekins, later." George said, damage control in his eyes. "Let's focus on the matter at hand. I've brought in our partner in crime to brainstorm. Lee?"

Lee Jordan sat reclined with his arms tucked behind his head. "Harry's right. There's nothing we can do anymore. My contact in Slytherin—"

"Contact?" Fred smirked. "You snogged a fourth year in a broom closet because she was too ugly to get someone her own age."

"Oh sod off," Lee said. "She's not so bad."

"Enough!" Neville snapped, startling everyone in the circle with the anger in his eyes. "Get back to the point, Jordan."

"Fine, sheesh. My_ contact_ in Slytherin tells me that Professor Snape is totally incapacitated. His magic is almost entirely drained and they don't know when he'll wake up. Could be hours, could be days. Pomfrey has no idea what happened to him, neither does Professor Dumbledore. The Slytherins are panicking because of Nott and Snape, but Flint and the Prefects have kept them under control for now." Lee shook his head. "How this news spreads so quickly is beyond me."

Gossip and gossiphounds, Mister Jordan.

Harry sighed, steepling his fingers. He was too bloody young for this. "Hermione, I need you to do research—" Her expression brightened noticeably at that, "—on the Dark Mark. Figure out what it is, see if we can do anything. Fred, George?" They mock saluted him. "I need one of you watching the map at all times, keeping track of Quirrell. If he gets near any of us alone, get to that person no matter what."

"What about me, Harry?" Ron said. "Is there anything I can do?"

Harry sighed. "I need either you or Neville by me all the time. Both of you, learn more about Dark Arts Defense, since Quirrell obviously isn't our best source on that. He mentioned Voldemort—" flinch "—so he's clearly dangerous. I don't much like Snape or his Dark Mark, but if one of Voldemort's—" flinch "—little friends is after him, he must be doing something right. And for the love of god, quit shrieking inside when I say his name!"

"Sorry, Harry." Ron mumbled. "You don't know what it's like here in the Wizarding World…"

"You weren't even alive at the time!" Harry hissed. Then he let another sigh slipped from his lungs. Silence descended upon the group.

"H-Harry?" Hermione whispered.

"Yeah, Hermione?"

"How did our lives become so serious so quickly?"

Harry grimaced. "I don't know, Hermione. I think it started when my parents were offed."

She bit her lip at that. "Oh…"

Harry ran his hands through his hair. It was a good question. He'd had a great life until wizards got involved. It wasn't great. He had been lonely and had no family, but at least he hadn't been hunted by evil warlocks. Why didn't they just leave him the hell alone?

"And what is that dog hiding? Slimy Snape said something about a stone and Quirrell mentioned Hagrid." Fred said.

"Enough!" Harry barked. The others looked at him with surprise. His face fell. "I'm sorry, it's been a long day. Let's handle it another day," he sighed. "I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready for this! How do the few adults in this bloody castle not notice the attempted murder of one of their own?"

No one had an answer.

.

* * *

.

**30 November 1991**

Harry was stretched out on a grassy knoll. He lolled his head back and rolled over to look at his companion.

"I never know when someone's going to try to bloody kill me anymore." Harry complained.

"Is there anything we can do?"

"Not unless you can get inside Hogwarts and keep an eye on everyone inside." Harry muttered. "That would be wonderful."

"That may be possible."

Harry's eyebrows shot up in curiosity. "Really now? You can get agents into Hogwarts?"

"We can." The snake replied. "Though there are certain areas that are… contained."

"What places would these be?"

"We cannot access the brood nests where the children sleep, nor where many of the elders keep their work."

"So the dormitories and teacher's offices are off limits. You can still move in the hallways unseen, though?"

"We can."

Harry Potter is what is known as a Parselmouth. Because of the abilities conferred on him by the curse scar adorning his fragile forehead, he could speak to snakes just like the nebulously semi-living Lord Voldemort. Being a Parselmouth gives Harry a degree of respect among snakekind. In return for his service in defending his serpentine brethren, they allow him to command them as he wills. It also makes him a snogging machine, not that he knew that just yet. It's all about that tongue!

"Get in there as soon as you can. Keep track of whatever you can inside the castle and…" he saw Hagrid approaching them. "Bugger. Outside the castle, too. Especially _his_ house."

"We will survey the half-giant's den as well. Return here again if you wish to speak with us."

The snake slithered off as Hagrid made his way up the hill. "Ay, 'arry, what're ya doin outside? Ain't ye supposed to be in class?

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's just Binns, Hagrid. You know as well as I do that class is worthless."

Hagrid shrugged. "Aye, but ye need to keep yer grades up. Yer mother and father both had—"

"Don't you dare use them to guilt me, Hagrid." Harry's voice had a steel to it unnatural for a boy his age. Hagrid gulped involuntarily.

"Ah'm sorry 'arry," Hagrid replied. "Didn't mean to offend ye."

"Not a problem." Harry said. "You can return the favor by telling me about the stone that's being kept in the locked room on the third floor." Hagrid's eyes grew bulbous and veiny and his mouth gaped as Harry pressed on. "Or should I ask Fluffy? Now that I know his weakness, that is…"

"How'd ye know ye could put Fluffy to sleep with music?" Hagrid asked in amazement. Harry smiled. 'Because you just told me,' he thought. "Or about the stone? Merlin, that was supposed to be a secret between Nicholas Flamel and Professor Dumbledore." Hagrid tensed. "Oh, I should not have said that. Should not have said that…"

"Hagrid, listen to me. Your secrets are as good as mine. I think Snape was attacked because of that stone. You have to tell me what that dog is guarding."

"Ruddy hell, you're jus' a first year Harry. Let Professor Dumbledore handle this. I have to go, before I say anything else."

Harry sighed as Hagrid walked away, muttering to himself about having his secrets dragged out in a matter of minutes. The snake he'd been ordering slithered up to his ear. "The half-giant has a dragon egg in his den."

Harry smacked his head into his palm. "You cannot be serious."

Another issue for Hermione to handle.

**25 December 1991**

The curtains on his bed began to rustle as someone shook them.

"Wake up Harry! It's Christmas!"

Harry sniffed. He'd been awake for thirty minutes already. Reading the research notes Hermione had sent him via Hedwig was taking up a good bit of his time.

_They wouldn't let me take more than twelve books back for break in addition to the ones I already had over the last month, but I've done the best I can. Madam Pince can be a prat sometimes._

Harry had smiled at that.

_I couldn't find anything about the Dark Mark itself, but I found some information on a NEWT level charm called the Protean Charm which matches many of the known characteristics of the Dark Mark. If You-Know-Who is as arrogant as the history books have recorded, then he would have focused all the power in himself rather than the traditional non-monolithic formation. If he really is alive, he must be working through Professor Quirrell somehow. Harry, you must be careful around him._

_My theory is that Professor Quirrell somehow used the Dark Mark to drain Professor Snape's magic, thus shocking his body and sending him into a magical coma. As much as I enjoyed Professor Dumbledore's substitute teaching, you need to wake him up. His magic should be recovered by now, so if he is still comatose it must be a physical issue. I stole an epinephrine shot from my parents' office, please sneak into the Infirmary and inject it into a vein as soon as you can. _

'Stealing medicine? Sneak into Pomfrey's ward? Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?'

_As for the hidden stone, there are only a few magical stones worthy of that kind of guard that I have discovered in my studies. The most prominent is the Philosopher's Stone, which produces the Elixir of Life. It seems the most likely suspect, since You-Know-Who was obsessed with immortality. Do be careful, Harry. If Quirrell is a pawn of You-Know-Who, he will be out for your blood. Miss you._

_Hermione Granger_

"Get outta here, Ron. It's early."

"But it's Christmas! And there are presents!"

.

* * *

.

For once in Harry's life, there was a whole day of peace. After a raucous morning filled with feasts, unwrapping, and celebration, most of those who stayed behind on the holidays were contentedly dozing in the mid-afternoon. Harry, on the other hand, was anxious to try out his new invisibility cloak. Sweeping it over his shoulders, Harry snuck out of the Gryffindor Commons and began exploring the halls of Hogwarts. Eventually, he came across a room with the door cracked open and found Ron sitting down in front of an ornate mirror.

"Ron?"

The ginger whirled around. "Who's there?"

Harry removed the cloak and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

"Oh, Harry. It's just you. I couldn't find you, so I started wandering and got a little lost. I found the most incredible thing. I'm Head Boy and my whole family is with me! It's amazing. It's a mirror that shows the future!"

Harry stepped in front of it. "Is that what it is? Hm."

Ron looked back at him. "So what do you see, Harry?" Then he immediately looked back at the mirror. He couldn't seem to pry himself away.

"That's for me to know," Harry smirked. "I think I'd rather just keep this to myself."

"Ah, you're no fun."

Harry smiled. "I guess not. Now c'mon, let's head back to the Common Room. I'll play you in a game of chess."

Ron grinned. He knew that'd get him going. Ron stood and stepped out the door. "You coming, Harry?"

"I suppose," Harry said as he glanced once more wistfully at the mirror. "I suppose so."

As he walked out the door, Harry had a perturbed look on his face. He didn't see why Ron was so enamored with the mirror. After all, Harry didn't see anything in it but himself.


	10. Chapter 6: The Breaking of Harry Potter

Chapter 6

**Year One: The Breaking of Harry Potter**

**22 February 1992**

It was an omen.

'**This is where it all starts going downhill**'

.

* * *

.

That roundabout sums up what Harry's mind was screaming at him as he made a screeching dive, then rocketed straight up like a piston and spun in a 270° as he fired the indented sphere in his hand toward his partner in crime. She took it in her hands and launched it with Howitzer velocity straight through the hoop. Before any of them could cheer, the referee blew her whistle.

"Game over!"

Just after the goal had been scored, Hufflepuff had caught the Snitch. Final score: 210-170. Gryffindor's twin Beaters were the star of the game, nearly breaking one broom and keeping the Hufflepuff House team from scoring more than two goals. Harry and his Chasers had done the rest, swarming over the Hufflepuffs and intercepting passes left and right, putting up an impressive twenty and one goals before the game was mercifully ended. The other five held the Weasleys high (albeit unsteadily—Oliver, three girls, and Harry weren't exactly a stable platform), reveling in their victory over the favored Hufflepuffs, who had beaten Ravenclaw by 200 points.

"That was wicked!"

A reluctant grin. "I guess you did look pretty good out there."

Two of his three closest confidants smacked him on the back congenially. Harry frowned in response, as if he were determined to be a spoilsport.

The past few weeks had been far too quiet. Harry understood that in his life, there was no such thing as peace. If it wasn't the Dursleys, it was rogue Death Eaters. If it wasn't rogue Death Eaters, it was their kids. And if it wasn't them, it was assholes who couldn't treat Quidditch like a game.

Funny how they're all from Slytherin except for the Dursleys. If you placed the Sorting Cap upon the head of Vernon Dursley, it would eventually yell Hufflepuff. What else would you expect from a family so stubbornly loyal to themselves and their hatred of all things incorrectly progenied?

The intense feeling of safety scared Harry to the brink of paranoia. He had the twins hawking over the Marauder's Map watching for threats every day. Yet still, the only issues of import were Snape's continued immobility and Dumbledore's frequent visits to the third floor corridor. The only development was that Harry had managed to sneak into the Hospital Wing with his invisibility cloak and stabbed Snape with the needle Hermione had owled to him. He'd awoken with a gasp, but saw nothing around him. He was still under a heavy potion regimen that rendered him nearly incomprehensible, but he was supposed to recover within the week. The magical drain had nearly killed him, after all. This small victory did nothing to quell Harry's fear. His headaches in DADA classes had only intensified.

Hermione had insisted that she was sure a Philosopher's Stone was the target of Quirrell's rampage. It was the only artifact that made sense considering the information that was available. It was also likely, she said, that Quirrell was a thrall of Voldemort. Quirrell's history was spackled with only the most moderate of magical achievements. He had not been the type to invade Hogwarts in search of immortality before he began teaching Defense Against Dark Arts. Hermione surmised that he was under the effect of the Imperius Curse of a Death Eater, or even Voldemort himself. Further results needed better data, but the general gist of it was that Quirrell wouldn't be doing this of his own volition.

He snapped back to the real world. "Go ahead, you two. Have the night," Harry called out to them, protesting their insistence on keeping to their map duties. One day of exuberance after victory was not a problem. Harry couldn't help but indulge the grins on their faces as the other four celebrated their incredible performance.

No, seriously. The two had been in especially twin-like form in the Hufflepuff game. Their actions were inhuman, borderline psychic even. Harry had never come close to being touched as the Hufflepuff Chasers were constantly disrupted by Bludger fire that seemed like a hailstorm from the constant back and forth. Harry was cognizant of his own danger, but also found the exuberance of riding his broom more intoxicating than any Amortentia. Quidditch was the one exception he stubbornly clung to in the face of his book and its ideals.

Harry ha-haaaaa'd to himself at the memory of their impressive victory and headed toward the Great Hall. He was going to be meeting Neville to practice more of the charms that were Harry's specialty. The empty hall clattered with his footsteps in the silence of its abandonment. Click, clock, click, clock, click, clock, click, clock, went his footsteps. Methodical plodding over the ancient stones of Hogwarts Castle. In an instant, his excitement vanished. Harry's blood ran cold as he felt the earthy touch of a wooden wand press into his neck. His second to last thought before the Stunner took his consciousness was that he should have damned the twins' happiness to hell to ensure they watched the map.

Then one more thought. 'Hell, this came out of nowhere.'

.

* * *

.

Harry groggily awoke in the corner of a room he didn't recognize. He cracked his eyes open very faintly to watch as Quirrell dispatched a troll with little trouble. Satisfied with the dead beast in front of him, he wheeled on Harry, who slammed his eyes shut and feigned unconsciousness with the believability of one who has had to do so before. Quirrell levitated him and muttered, "The Dark Lord surely did not wish to accelerate these plans, but the unexpected recovery of his pet has forced my hand…"

Harry's mind began flaring with shrieks like air raid sirens. "But that won't be any trouble once I recover the stone. That fool Dumbledore ran off to the Ministry thanks to Augustus' little note. By the time he gets back, the stone will be gone for good and Harry Potter will be dead."

It took all his self-control not to violently assert himself.

Harry pinched himself. Not dreaming. Shit.

His next step was to find his wand as surreptitiously as possible. Back pocket, same as usual. Quirrell hadn't bothered to disarm a first year, a mistake he internally begged the man to let him exploit. Quirrell handled the next room with a Flame-Freezing Charm and walked through to the last puzzle, into the main chamber.

The puzzle of the mirror was Dumbledore's triumph. He made it appear so that he had left no puzzle at all to the casual observer, yet the processes required to solve access it were deep. A specifically mammalian brain had to be convinced that it would not use the treasure within in order to gain it and eventually use it. This kind of feat was nearly impossible for any creature able to do so because of the correlation between acquisition and usage. Quite the contradiction, you see, one that Quirinus Quirrell was unable to decipher. His rage at their mirror nearly caused him to destroy it before a voice from its head hissed at him not to.

'Hissed?' Harry thought. 'From his head? Then…'

Grriiiiind, click click, whirr whirr, went Harry's brain. It was deciphering the clues laid out in front of him. Evil presence dominating the room, inserted in the back of his Defense Professor's deeply confused little brain. Kidnapping of the Boy-Who-Lived. Infiltrating the room holding the Philosopher's Stone. Examining all the evidence, only one logical conclusion remained.

Voldemort.

The name that ran cold as ice through the veins of any who heard it. Responsible for hundreds of deaths and nationwide chaos, terror of Britain. He was _here_. Harry could feel it in the pulsing agony of his scar. Quirrell bent over to examine the mirror more closely. This was it. His best chance lay before him.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

Quirrell's wand flew out of his hands. The man whirled around with a look of clear confusion plastered on his face. Harry smirked and twirled the wand he had just acquired in his hands.

"Gotcha."

Harry did not, in fact, got anyone.

Quirrell's lips curled upward in a maleficent expression of superiority. "You have no idea the power with which I wield, Potter!"

The wand he had only just gained slipped from his tight grip and flew back into Quirrell's hand. Harry's eyes widened as he ducked behind a column, a Reductor Curse flying past his previous location. Harry swore as he realized the opportunity he had just lost. On the fly, he recounted the details of the room he'd previously examined before making his move. It was a rectangular stone room, only accentuated by the columns holding it up and two levels bridged by a small stairway that led to the Mirror of Erised. The rest of the room was otherwise devoid of tangible features. Improvisation was key in a room empty of natural advantages to exploit.

Harry peeked from behind his cover and (as much as an eleven year old can) bellowed "_Rictusempra! Expelliarmus! Rictusempra! Epoximise!_"

The two minor charms and the Disarmer fell hollow on Quirrell's sizable shield and he fired two Cutting curses back, which gashed into the column he was hiding behind. Harry smirked as his fourth charm took effect. A look of shock dawned on Quirrell as his shoes stuck to the ground, bound by his Sticking Charm. As he struggled to recall the counter, Harry hammered him with everything he had. Quirrell's look of panic broadened as the Confundus Charm worsened his efforts to remember the counter to the Sticking Charm and nearly had his spine snapped by the Banisher he was nailed with that sent his upper body reeling backward.

Harry was nearly set to gloat before Quirrell dispelled the effects of the Confundus with an angry burst of magic and cleared the sticking effect. Evil or not, Quirrell's magic was developed enough to fight the efforts of a mere eleven year old.

The DADA teacher sprang into action, yelling, "_Avifors!_" A horde of birds spawned from the stones the Reductor curse had dislodged from Harry's hiding place and attacked him. Harry ducked the dive-bomb and fired a Severing Charm at them, which took care of most of the flock. While he was doing so, Quirrell had rounded behind him.

"_Petrificus Totalis!_"

Harry stiffened like a board and fell to the ground on his back. His brows, one of the few body parts left unaffected, narrowed at the smirking man above him. Dark magic emanated from him in waves, filling Harry with a distinctly putrefying nausea that rocked him like a mid-morning hangover. He'd only had that unfortunate experience once, when he found a case of Strongbow at the age of eight and mistook it for plain cider. He'd celebrated his find by drinking the entire case in a night, not realizing why his inhibitions faded as he drank and drank. A roaring headache and fit of vomiting a morning later had led him to deeply regret that mistake.

Quirrell glowered over his immobile body. "Your Charms are impressive, boy, but without knowledge of true spells, you will never be able to defeat me. _Incarcerous_."

Harry resisted the urge to grimace as the ropes he knew were coming bound him. His wand clattered to the floor as his hand was stretched open by the tightness of the ropes. The rest of Gryffindor house was probably celebrating the Quidditch victory with the twins by now. Only Neville would notice his absence, but even then he'd given himself wiggle room as to when he would make the meeting. His Longbottom lieutenant would wait for a while before noticing something was amiss. The malicious DADA professor dispelled the Body-Bind Curse, so that Harry could see his triumph.

"Stay put, boy, and watch while I master this damned mirror and deliver to my master the key to immortality. It will yield its secrets to me."

Harry watched as Quirrell settled in front of the mirror again. He poked at it occasionally with his wand and even tried to cast Unforgivables on it. The Cruciatus and Imperius had no effect and Harry saw as his former professor contemplated using the final of the three before simply sitting in front of the mirror and examining its contents.

.

* * *

.

Quirinus Quirrell was, obviously, a moron. Casting Unforgivables on inorganic objects was unjustifiably stupid.

.

* * *

.

Harry struggled with his magically tightening bindings. He was running out of options. His wand lay unmolested on the ground, but he had no way of reaching it because of the enchanted ropes that rooted him to the column he lay against. He had begun contemplating wandless magic when he heard a whisper behind him. Suddenly, his bindings began to loosen, though they did not totally relent. He felt the warmth of his wand reuniting with his hand. With a wave, he muttered the incantation for a Cutting Charm and felt his release. With a flash, he pointed his wand at the man sitting in front of the mirror deep in thought and let loose

"_Aguamenti!"_ A spurt of hundreds of fine water droplets exploded from his wand.

Not quite the Killing Curse, but the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't done yet.

"_Glacius!_"

The water hardened into spikes. Quirrell spun and waved his wand to vanish the ice in a panic, but was still pierced by several bolts. He recoiled and gritted his teeth in pain, but decided quickly not to withhold his emotions. He roared with rage and the sick glow of the Cruciatus Curse flew from his wand. Harry rolled out of the way and fired a Banisher at his wayward professor. He flew backwards and smacked into the wall, clearly dazed. Harry popped off another Banisher and an Immobilizer and heard a female voice behind him.

"_Everte Statum!_"

Quirrell blocked that Hurling hex and dodged the Immobilizer, but was hit by the second Banisher and again flew backwards. Before Harry could press the attack, Quirrell had drawn himself to his full height and glared at Harry. The dark power that had seemed to seep from him was now pouring off in waves, as if he was only playing a game before. Harry froze for a moment, but was shaken to reality by the words that came forth.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

Harry threw himself to the ground on all fours, stomach up, to dodge the curse, but heard the crumpling of another person behind him. He hazarded a glance and found the Hufflepuff first year he'd met two years ago crumpled on the floor.

Dead. Megan Jones, who had surreptitiously followed Harry in an effort to help by rescuing him, dead.

Panic flooded Harry Potter.

'D**ead.**

**She was dead.**

**Death is coming for me, now.'**

Harry did the only thing he could do. He huddled to himself with his wand out and desperately elicited every spell he could think of. What came out was weak, projected from fear rather than power. Quirrell waved them off effortlessly and crushed him with a Bonebreaker. Harry crumpled to the ground with a broken leg and felt the familiar grip of the Incarcerous spell wrap him again. A peal of laughter shattered Harry's already weakened spirit as Quirrell threw his head back and grinned.

"Now, you will help me."

He grabbed Harry by his hair and thrust his face into the Mirror. Harry saw nothing but a reflection again. He didn't give a damn about the Philosopher's Stone. All he wanted was to give the damn thing back to Dumbledore and live a finite, but natural life.

That was the wrong choice.

Sensing his lack of desire to abuse the stone, the mirror decided to vomit its responsibility onto Harry. The weight of the stone in his pocket left him paralyzed with fear. He completely missed Quirrell's first question. How fortunate that he repeated it!

"Answer me! I demand to know what you see!"

Harry gulped. "I see myself. Just me."

Quirrell threw him several meters behind him with inhuman force, crushing Harry against a column in his frustration. "No! That is not all there is to this mirror!"

When he slammed against the hard stone, it jolted both him and his clothing.

Clink, clink, clatter. Out came the stone.

Silence reigned.

Quirrell turned slowly and saw the glint of red. His lapse of concentration allowed the ropes to slip and Harry dove out of them to grab the stone. Quirrell sent him flying with a Banisher and yelled, "_Accio Philosopher's Stone!_"

Harry's eyes went wide.

Quirrell's eyes went wide.

The DADA professor gripped the Stone.

Harry raised his wand.

Quirrell sent it flying with a Disarmer.

He stared at the stone with greed in his eyes.

Harry opened his mouth in protest.

Quirrell's body began to crumble.

The back of Quirrell's head erupted.

The Stone fell from his hands.

The spirit that flew forth from Quirrell held the stone in its incorporeal mist.

Harry gasped.

The room began to rumble.

Voldemort and the Stone disappeared from the castle, leaving a shockwave in his wake.

Harry was thrown to the ground.

His scar began to flare.

**Albania.**

Voldemort's spirit ate the Stone. It vanished.

A surge of wild magic.

.

* * *

.

Harry thrashed on the ground. A minute went by, then two. Sixty, then another sixty seconds of nonstop, magically induced agony that left him writhing helplessly. Harry's body continued to convulse violently on the ground as the roar of unrestrained magic pulsed through his body. The curse scar on his head ruptured and blood began to pour. His only conscious action was to clutch his forehead as unmitigated agony flowed from the dark magic embedded in his forehead. Visions began to flood his mind as the pure life magic from the Stone traversed minds and assaulted the death in Harry, too.

**Horcrux Count: 1/7**

_The eyes of an unknown individual stared into a forest. Presumably, it was Voldemort. He thrust his hand forward, somehow holding Quirrell's wand, toward a rabbit and cast the Killing Curse. Nothing happened. Seething with anger, he tried a Reductor Curse. The rabbit simply blinked at him. With some feeling of humiliation, the Dark Lord tried the Aguamenti spell. A few droplets dribbled from the wand, but no more. He roared with rage._

Harry's pain intensified tenfold.

After three minutes and seventeen seconds, Harry's smart and evolved brain shut down. The subconscious actors in control of his most important organ had determined that any more pain would drive the conscious mind so deep into insanity that it could never recover and simply shut the entire thing down.

As it happens, the human brain could not engage these countermeasures against the Cruciatus Curse. Sorry Frank. Sorry Alice.

Harry's continually struggling form was now splayed wide, lying limp on the cold, hard stone of the Erised Chamber. He did not hear the voice that called forth from the next room.

"Harry! Harry!"

Dumbledore had returned from his trip to the Ministry. "A false alarm," he had mused to himself at the time. Now he was not so sure.

Albus Dumbledore walked into the final chamber with some shock on his face. Harry laid face down, blood still flowing from his curse scar. A few meters from him, the body of the dead girl who had tried to rescue him was frozen prostrate, mouth agape, fear in her eyes. He spared her a glance, but his main concern was for Harry. He scooped him up and held him close to his chest with one hand and wielded his wand with the other.

"_Rennervate!_"

Nothing.

The Headmaster waved his wand over the head of the fallen boy and cleared the blood from his face. The stream had finally slowed to a trickle of blood and eventually stopped. Albus Dumbledore looked pointedly at the ashes of the fallen Professor that lay near the Mirror.

"Oh, what did he do to you, Harry?"

.

* * *

.

The passage of time grew hazy.

.

* * *

.

Harry blinked once, but did not open his eyes again.

Conversation began to dribble.

"…the only class he did not already achieve first level results in was Potions—"

"Nevertheless…"

"I think the extenuating circumstances…"

"—but do not…

"Severus, surely you do not blame…

"—blame and proficiency have nothing…"

"Just let this be, he is still…"

Harry's eyes remained shut.

The human brain is a remarkable feat of evolutionary engineering. It is capable of far greater feats than most Muggles and even most wizards know are possible. That is why one of the most powerful drugs on the market is the simple sugar pill. The placebo effect can cure anything from the common cold to even cancer under the right circumstances. However, as it stood, Harry Potter's brain couldn't beat an egg.

Harry's eyes remained closed, and he grew still.

.

* * *

.

Harry Potter blinked, and he opened his eyes.

He sat up.

"It is leaving today, Albus."

"I know, Poppy."

"We can't keep him here anymore, Albus, but he has to be sent somewhere."

"He will go back to his relatives, where—"

"He can't go back there!" Madam Pomfrey snapped. "That house has no ambient magic. Young Mister Potter is on the brink as it stands. He must stay somewhere that ambient magic is present."

"Quiet Poppy, the boy is awake."

She glanced dismissively at Harry, then turned back to the Headmaster. He looked more tired than he had in decades. "Nonsense. He can't understand a word you're saying, Albus. That dark magic he was hit with ruptured his mind. Whatever it is," she said, running a finger over his forehead, "it came from his scar. The dark magic residuals that emanate from it are still frightening even months after the source was destroyed. He has his basic five senses, sure, but he can't interpret them. He can see, but he has no idea what he's looking at. He can hear, but language is beyond his—"

"I understand, Poppy."

Her anger flared. Unbridled rage flowed off her in waves as she thrust her head into the Headmaster's personal bubble and spoke in stilted tones up at him. "I don't believe you do, Albus. Your haphazard storage of a valuable artifact in the castle is what led to his condition. The former professor led him down there for that specific reason. If it weren't for that, he wouldn't be in such a state. The Muggles…"

Her voice faltered. "The Muggles… they will think he is… they will say he is _retarded_!"

Dumbledore stiffened. "Now, Poppy—"

SPMACK!

In all his years, Albus Dumbledore could not recall the last time he had been slapped. Perhaps he never had, until that day in the infirmary. He looked down at her in shock and found tears brimming unconstrained in her eyes.

"Don't you dare condescend to me like that, _Albus_," she managed. "You know bloody well what's going to happen to him once he goes back to his aunt's house!" Albus glanced nervously at Harry, who had sat up in his bed. The boy was twiddling aimlessly with the edges of his sheets.

Pomfrey continued. "You endangered the boy and you will **damn well listen **when I tell you what to do. If the boy does not remain engaged around ambient magic, he will _never recover_." Pomfrey barely managed to hiss the last two words out before her voice betrayed her entirely. She sighed and took a breath, willing herself to continue. "His damage is both physical and magical, far worse than what Severus incurred over the Christmas break. He has to draw on nearby magical sources constantly if his mind is to repair itself. If you send him back to those _Muggles_ he may never recover. Are you really willing to risk that?"

Albus closed his eyes behind his half-moon glasses and bowed his head with shame. "Two weeks."

Pomfrey's eyebrows shifted in suspicion. "Two weeks what?"

"Two weeks with his relatives is all I ask for. There are… protections there that must be renewed by his presence. After those two weeks are done I can send him to live with a wizard family. I would presume the Weasleys, if they would have him, would be a good candidate."

A critical glare. "You realize that those two weeks may set him back by months in his recovery."

Dumbledore hung his head. "It must be done."

"Fine. The Burrow is an acceptable location should the Weasleys accept. We—"

"Harry!"

Hermione Granger burst through the door as the yell escaped her lips, seeing him awake and sitting upright.

"Miss Granger! You should be on the Express, it is leaving within the hour!"

"But, Harry…"

Dumbledore sighed. "I will instruct the conductor to wait. You three deserve time with your friend considering the circumstances." He leaned down in front of Harry's bed. "Harry? Are you in there, my boy?"

Harry gazed curiously at the aged man in front of him. With a gleam in his eye, he reached forward…

He grabbed onto Dumbledore's beard. Idly, he began to stroke it. Dumbledore forced out a chuckle as the Potter scion softly slipped his hand through the mess of hair that hung from the Headmaster's chin. Harry's eyes settled absently on the beard, softly playing with the tangles.

Ron Weasley's eyes grew wide. "What… what is he doing?"

Dumbledore sighed. "It is better if Madam Pomfrey explained. I will hold the Express until you four make it, but do be quick." With that, he withdrew himself from Harry and exited the room unceremoniously.

Ron turned to her. "Madam Pomfrey?"

She swallowed. This was not an easy thing to explain. "The incident several months ago fractured his mind. Whatever dark magic consumed him, it flowed from his scar and shattered his fragile psyche. He must have had numerous incidents of underage magic, because the depth to which his mind-core connection was developed severely exacerbated the damage done to him." Neville winced. Harry had told him how much magic he had done as a child.

Pomfrey continued, "Regardless, the impact has been devastating. Harry's mind is incapable of processing information. He can see, hear, taste, smell, and feel, but it appears that his brain is simply unable to decipher what these sensations mean."

Tears ran down her cheeks, as well as Hermione's. The latter spoke. "S-so how long will he be like this?"

"Best case scenario, it could be just weeks, but I simply don't know. More likely it may be months, but it could even be years before he regains his ability to function normally."

Hermione broke into full sobbing at this, clutching and burying herself into Ron's shoulder. Neville swallowed the spittle in his mouth out of nervous habit. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"I'm afraid not, Mister Longbottom. The best thing you can do is treat him exactly as you did before, as best as you can. The best remedy for him is to remain around a magical environment. To that end, Professor Dumbledore is trying to arrange an agreement to keep him at the Burrow for most of the vacation period, should your parents relent Mister Weasley."

"O-Of course," Ron said, ignoring Hermione. It wasn't out of spite, but he simply didn't have the capacity to comfort her. She had moved to Harry's bedside and was trying to communicate with him. Harry was largely disinterested with this. He instead tentatively traced a single finger across her hairline. Satisfied, he began running his right hand through her hair, gazing intently at it like a cat with a ball of yarn.

"If you would simply take care of Harry that would be best. Even if he does not recover from his… condition in time for next year, he will come back and sit in classes. It is imperative that we maintain his magical routine as best we can. His mind is still trying to piece itself together with magic, but it is a slow process that I cannot expedite without risking his permanent sanity."

The seriousness of her talk was rapidly being dulled by the intensity with which Harry was staring at Hermione's hair. She flushed at the attention, but did not remove herself from his gaze. She tried to intertwine her hand with his, but he ignored it and pawed gingerly at her bushy locks.

"This is precisely the kind of behavior you will have to grow to accept with Harry. If you cannot handle this responsibility, then you may as well drop the pretense."

All three glared at her. That was clearly not an option.

Madam Pomfrey smiled for the first time in several months, this time happy tears beginning to brim in her eyes. Her voice began to choke ever so slightly. "Your loyalty is… oh, to hell with it! You kids are better friends than I could possibly hope for him to have. Please, please, don't let him down. The Headmaster has already done that."

Hermione and Ron gaped at that comment. Neville quirked his eyebrow in surprise. "Do not repeat that comment, please. Still, know that you're all the poor boy has. If you three don't stay with him, there is no one else. He needs you. Don't let him down."

The three nodded solemnly.

"Now get to the Express! I will lead Mister Potter there myself."

The three reached the door and headed out. Before he left, Neville Longbottom suddenly stopped and wheeled about. He rushed to Harry's side and whispered fiercely in his ear. What he said, between just he and Harry, was this:

"I was supposed to protect you, but I messed up. I failed you. I won't let anyone do this to you again. So please, just… get better. I won't ever stop waiting."

Feeling a burden lifted from his chest. Neville rushed out the door to catch up with the other two.

"You're lucky to have them, Harry," Pomfrey murmured. "If you have any hope, it's thanks to them."

With that, she sighed and began preparing everything he would need to be seen off to the Hogwarts Express.

Harry blinked, then closed his eyes.

.

* * *

.

Harry blinked, then opened his eyes.

Harry was placed between Ron and Hermione, with Neville sitting across from him. His eyes were glassy, seemingly mesmerized by the hair of the girl to his left as he idly ran his hands through it. A huff emanated from the other side of the compartment.

"Look, I know this is going to be rough. Harry… Harry got…" Neville struggled inwardly, but decided to let loose. "Harry got messed up, okay? We all know it. We all heard what Madam Pomfrey said. I dunno about you two, but I'm not leaving him until he gets better—"

"I won't either!" Hermione cried.

"Yeah, same goes for me…" Ron said.

"You say that like we don't like Harry as much as you do, but we do." Hermione said, but without accusation or malice in her voice. It was just a statement of fact, tinged with a deep-seated emotional connection. "I'm going to be there when he 'wakes up' and I'm going to be there for him until then. I've already got plans to research any similar cases in magical or Muggle people. If I find something m-maybe we can… fix him."

Ron nodded. Neville ran his fingers through his hair with the expression of a person much older than 11. "Thank you," he managed. Neville spoke again. "Thank you."

Harry blinked, then closed his eyes.

.

* * *

.

Harry blinked, then opened his eyes.

Noises poured in from downstairs.

"—not a toy you can play with! He's—"

"I know! And I want to see him!"

"He isn't your friend! He's mine! Mum, tell her to leave Harry alone!"

"Mum, I'm not going to bother him! I want to see him, that's all. Please, Mum!"

"Ginny, he's only been here half a day, you're going to have plenty of opportunities to see him. He isn't going anywhere, don't you worry."

"But… but Ron said he was supposed to stay as normal as possible," the ten year old countered in protest, "and he can't do that if he's stuck in that lousy room."

Molly Weasley arched an eyebrow at her youngest son. "What is she talking about?"

Ron sighed. "Madam Pomfrey said we should 'treat him exactly as we did before'. That doesn't mean Ginny can bloody well harass him just because he's the Boy-Who-Lived!"

"Language, Ronald!"

"But Mum, I won't harass him, I promise!" A pulse. "I must see him."

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Fine, dear, but if Ron tells me you make him uncomfortable I'll have you out of there in no time, you hear me young lady?"

She nodded eagerly and dashed up the stairs and into Ron's bedroom.

The boy in question sighed. "Mum, she's going to go spare over him."

"I know," she acknowledged, "but maybe what he needs is a little attention. I certainly wouldn't want to sit all alone if I were him."

"Yeah, but Ginny?"

Mrs. Weasley didn't respond to that. She couldn't explain why she'd let her go

**upstairs.**

"H-Hey. Harry"

The boy laid on his back, staring at the upper bunk of the set of beds he was on. He toyed idly with the bangs that covered his curse scar. It pained him no more, but the outlines were blacker and contrasted more with his skin than before. His eyes were vacant. She looked at him from the doorway

"I… I know you can't hear me. At least not really. That's what Mum and Ron told me, that you're here but not really with us. I don't know what that means, but I know you can't… oh, I'm just going on." She flushed. "I couldn't even imagine talking to you if I knew you could respond."

She sat next to him on the bed. Harry continued to tickle his bangs.

"I just wanted you to know that once I go to Hogwarts, you won't have to worry. I'm going to stick with you like Mum said I should. I know Ron is your… your mate from first year, but I…" she was stammering at this point. "I want you to look at me like you look at him! I won't let anyone hurt you any more than you already are!"

Harry, disinterested until now, suddenly cocked his head forward and sat up, looking at her. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it. The raw emotion that was brimming from her diminutive figure pulsed violently, like river rapids. It flowed, moving with both grace and terrible strength. He hesitantly reached out—paused, then continued—to her hair and idly stroked it. Her face turned as red as her hair.

"H-Harry…"

She sat still, turning awkwardly in the other direction as he continued to toy with her long red strands. The blank look in his eyes remained.

Harry blinked, then closed his eyes.

.

* * *

.

When Tom Marvolo Riddle consumed the Philosopher's Stone, it did more than give him life again. It bridged the connection between himself and the young Harry Potter and felt the presence of his curse scar. The undiluted life force of the Stone overwhelmed and obliterated the dark magic within him. However, poor Mister Potter had started using magic at far too young of an age. Hogwarts has a minimum age of eleven for a reason. Because of his gallivanting, his developing magic bound itself to the curse scar more tightly than it should have.

When the scar was destroyed, its deep connection to Harry's core and his mind was shattered as well. The ripple effect crushed his partially developed psyche and overwrote his capacity to understand.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was not much better off. Alive he was, but his magical core was empty immediately after his resurrection, drained by the effort of returning to life. It would require time to recover from death. Until then, he could do little but plan. Fortunately for him, there was little else to do in the south Balkans except start civil wars and play baccarat.

Through his connection, Harry could see, but not comprehend. A man sat against a tree and lazily sprayed a torrent of water into the face of an oncoming boar. The beast fled, perturbed. Little else worked for him, but progress was rapid.

Lord Voldemort was back.

.

* * *

.

* * *

.

**A/N: **I'm not much for these notes, as they tend to disrupt the flow of the story, but I noticed I had over 10,000 hits and over 50 reviews. Thanks for taking the time.


	11. Chapter 1: The Deceiver

**A/N: If this were a real book, you could see by page count that it is approximately one-third done by the end of this chapter. Year Two is the shortest, probably just two chapters because of the circumstances.**

Year Two

**Chapter 1: The Deceiver**

Harry blinked, then opened his eyes.

"—c'mon Harry, you just take it and push, like this."

He felt a soft hand guide his and thrust it downward. He heard a sigh from the owner of that hand. Not quite right, it seemed.

"Oh, keep trying! Here, let me take your hand… now follow what I do."

He felt his hand being guided down again, this time with less force and a bit slower, though still with intent. He heard a sharp intake of breath, then a slow exhale as he felt the force guiding his hand cease.

"You almost had it that time. Here, let's try again."

"Mum, make her stop! Some of us are trying to eat!"

"Now Ronald, Ginny is only trying to make Harry feel comfortable at the table."

"But she's being all touchy with him!"

"Let's see you go through the same thing that he is, prat!"

"Ginny, language!"

"Sorry, mum."

A light scraping noise came from the otherwise silent seat at the table. It would let up, then start again. Skrittt-t-t. Pause. Skrittt-t-t. Pause. And so forth. The three voices of Ginny, Ronald, and Mum turned to see the source of the noise: Harry Potter was dragging his fork down onto the plate aimlessly, sometimes hitting food and sometimes not, then bringing it back up.

"Oh! He's getting it!" Ginny said. "Here, here, now do it like this Harry."

Ron rolled his eyes, but not before his mother saw him. She made do with rebuking him for being rude and since he wouldn't help Harry his sister would instead and how would you like it if you were in a magically-induced-retardation-state and on and on and oh my, that's not appropriate Mrs. Weasley. Don't wave a knife in an eleven year old's face!

Ginny shook her head with a "tut-tut" and turned her attention back to the scraper. Skrittt-t-t. Pause. She grabbed the hand again and spoke.

"See, you have to put it in the food." Jab downward, spear a carefully sliced bit of ham, then lift into mouth. "C'mon Harry!" She was insistent, but her voice still caught in a bit of a whine.

Harry chewed on the bite and swallowed. He brought the fork back down again. Skrittt-t. He lingered on the mashed potatoes he'd stumbled into, then lifted him right into his mouth.

"Mum!"

"Not now Ginny, I'm disciplining your brother."

"But mum, he's got it!"

Sure enough, Harry Potter was eating like a normal British human being. Baby steps.

"That's great dear. Now, Ronald…"

And on and on. Ginny harrumphed. "Well, _I _think it's great."

After Ron eventually grumbled an apology, the four—Fred and George had gone to Lee Jordan's, while Percy was off interning for some Ministry papermuncher—finished lunch. A wrinkled old head wiggled its way out of the fireplace and on scene. "Molly, may I?"

"Oh! Of course, Albus, we were just finishing lunch, do come in!"

"Don't mind if I do."

The head withdrew briefly and Professor Albus Dumbledore strode through. He conjured a nice, red loveseat to sit in and joined the Weasleys at their table.

"Tea, Albus?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Certainly, Molly. Two cubes, as I'm feeling rather daring today."

Mrs. Weasley cleared the dishes and set the tea down. Dumbledore took a sip and smiled fondly. "Ah, the risk was well worth it. Your tea is delicious, Molly." She smiled with approval. "But you may have already guessed that I did not come here for tea. How is young Mister Potter faring as of late?"

By the time Ron opened his mouth, Ginny had already jumped into a detailed summary of Harry's day-to-day over the past week. "—and today he started eating by himself! That one took a while."

Dumbledore smiled approvingly. "Very good, Miss Weasley. I applaud your patience with Mister Potter's condition."

"He's been sleeping better, too," Ronald interjected, seeming anxious to speak his piece. "He used to thrash something fierce, like I told you last time. Now I reckon he sleeps all right, hardly moves a bit."

"That's because you sleep like the dead, Ronald."

"Hey, I don't—!"

"Enough, children!" Molly said. "Professor Dumbledore is trying to help poor Harry and all you two can do is bicker!"

"Easy, Molly," Dumbledore interjected with no less than the utmost congeniality. "Children will be children, let them enjoy it while they can. I'm afraid for Harry that time has ended far too quickly." He gestured to Ron and Ginny. "I must speak to your mother alone now, children."

"Go on, run upstairs. Ronald, don't forget to make Harry's bed for him. Ginny, sort the clothes. The dirty ones too, young lady!"

"Yes, mum," they both muttered. Ronald trudged up the stairs with Ginny right behind him. Mrs. Weasley turned to face the most powerful wizard in Britain.

"Albus, what—"

"Professor Dumbledore!"

Ginny had waited for Ron to round the corner before turning back and reentering the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was ready to send her right back up to join her brother before Dumbledore replied.

"Yes, Miss Weasley?"

She fidgeted under his attention, a flush of embarrassment creeping up her face. "I was… I was wondering whether we have to teach Harry all this stuff all over again."

Dumbledore raised a thick eyebrow above his glasses. "I'm afraid you will have to explain yourself more clearly."

She winced, but answered with uncertainty tingeing her voice. "S-sorry, I meant... What I meant was… all the things he used to know to do. Things everyone knows how to do," she stopped herself to consider, "—and magic too. Does he have to learn to talk again? What if… what if he can't go to Hogwarts? Is he going to be like this… forever?"

The last word was spoken with the deepest trepidation an eleven year old girl can muster as she nearly chewed her bottom lip off. Dumbledore looked almost bemused at her level of worry. "I appreciate your concern Miss Weasley, but do not feel as if you should worry about Harry. That is what Madam Pomfrey and I have been doing for the past month. She is as fine a Healer as they come and she has assured me that the best thing you can do is just what you have been doing. Keep Harry at the Burrow, doing all the things you would do if he were able to respond."

She nodded hesitantly and replied before dashing upstairs. "O-okay. Thanks Professor Dumbledore."

Once she had disappeared, Mrs. Weasley sighed. "I swear, those kids will be the death of—"

"Professor Dumbledore!"

Molly shrieked and started violently. The teacup that was in her hand went flying up in the air, scalding hot tea flying out with the threat of burning herself something fierce. Dumbledore waved his wand with a bemused look on his face, returning the liquid to the cup and the cup to her hand. Dumbledore stifled his chuckling with a sip of his own tea, which earned him a rueful look from the woman who had made it for him.

"Yes, Miss Weasley?" Dumbledore said, with that damnable twinkle sparkling in his eyes.

"I almost forgot!" she exhaled. "You didn't answer my question, not really."

"What question would that be, child?"

Ginny sighed. "I want to know if Harry will be able to go to Hogwarts and if he'll ever get better." She paused, and then added, "That's okay if you don't know."

Another bemused look flashed across his eyes at the premise of a schoolgirl telling the Supreme Mugwump and Headmaster of Hogwarts what he did and did not know. "I suppose I didn't quite answer your question, did I? Harry's recovery depends on how long he stays in a place that lets him immerse himself in magic. It is a very complicated issue of Wizarding health, but I promise that he is being taken care of in a way that best assures his continued safety and happiness. As Hogwarts is also an excellent source of ambient magic, he will be attending whether he has recovered or not, so as to hopefully accelerate his improvement."

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley said, "but that's enough questions Ginny. The Headmaster is a busy man and his time is precious."

"Nonsense, Molly. I may be busy, but I always have time for a student of mine, no matter how young they may be."

Ginny smiled brilliantly at that, remembering that she _was _now a student of his. "Thanks again Professor Dumbledore." He nodded in reply. He could see flits of other questions buzzing around in her mind, but she decided not to press her luck with her mother and took off to get to her chores.

Mrs. Weasley waited in trepidation as her daughter ascended the staircase. When Ginny did not pop right back around and scare the dickens out of her after several seconds, she released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "I'm terribly sorry about Ginevra, Albus. That girl has been a whirlwind since Harry got here. She's gone from barely being able to stand ten feet from the boy to coddling him like an infant. Though," she said with a sigh, "I suppose he is about like one. The poor boy, Albus, he loses his parents, lives ten years with those wretched Muggles, then this happens to him. I can't imagine how he must feel. He has no family left!"

Yip yip yip yip.

Dumbledore smiled and nodded patiently. He knew how much she valued family and was content to let her finish. "I understand your concern, Molly. But—"

"How did he even survive those two weeks with the Muggles? It took the poor dear two weeks here to start eating by himself."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled fiercely, unrestrained. "The Dursleys may have won a sweepstakes for a two week vacation for three to Ireland. Curious that they didn't enter in the first place, but I suppose rich Muggles are far more generous than we. Arabella was, of course, more than willing to house-sit for them."

That seemed to mollify her, but her eyes faded again when she looked at the boy seated to her left. He had finished his lunch, albeit messily—peas don't scrape very well, as it happens—and was now staring, staring at somewhere far, far away. "I can't help but be heartbroken for him, Albus. How could this have happened at Hogwarts? It's the safest place in all Britain! And I can't for the life of me figure out how the Prophet hasn't eaten this story alive and made a mess out of everything."

Dumbledore smiled. "The Daily Prophet may not be aware of the fact that young Mister Potter is… incapacitated."

Molly gaped. "But… but how? Surely word must have gotten out."

"Alas, I'm afraid the intrepid reporters at the esteemed paper were not made aware of the situation," he said. "The only ones who know are your family, young Mister Longbottom and Miss Granger, and the Heads of House at Hogwarts."

"But Albus, you know once they catch wind of this they'll run roughshod over Harry even worse for it being hidden, never mind how they'll treat _you_ in the papers. The death of that poor girl was bad enough, even if the family did try to keep it private. Once the boy goes back to Hogwarts everyone will know."

Dumbledore reclined in his chair with a thoughtful expression. "Indeed, Molly. That is why I have consented to an interview with the Daily Prophet tomorrow to discuss the Boy-Who-Lived. They have been assured it is the scoop of a lifetime."

"Albus!" Molly said. "You haven't given a full interview since…"

"Yes Molly, since Grindelwald was defeated. I'm afraid I have little charm with reporters, but if they get a hold of this before I can explain what happened, then Harry might be subjected to… undue stress."

Molly frowned, and then quieted her voice. "What _did_ happen, Albus?"

.

* * *

.

As it was, Albus Dumbledore was actually quite close to the truth of the matter. After being dead-ended at the Ministry, he realized something was amiss and hurried back to Hogwarts. By the time he arrived, it was too late. All that remained was two children and a pile of ash (that was determined to be the remains of Quirinus Quirrell) near the remnants of the Mirror of Erised that lay strewn across the floor. The last bit both surprised and worried him. The Mirror of Erised was no mere construct of glass and metal. It was an ancient magical artifact crafted to resist all but the worst damage. Something had been let loose in the Chamber. Something dangerous, something very dark. Whatever it was had killed the girl and left Harry broken, crumpled on the floor in a heap of bruised flesh and blood pouring from his forehead like someone'd left the spigot on.

On top of that, the Philosopher's Stone was missing. It was possible that it was destroyed along with the mirror, but Dumbledore couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.

As for Harry Potter? He'd never seen anything like it. The boy retained his involuntarily functions—breathing, blinking, and so on, but was otherwise close to dead. Poppy said that an unknown type of dark magic, spreading inward from the lightning bolt on his forehead, had shocked his magic so badly that it drove the brain itself into total shutdown. His recovery, Poppy said, depended on how long it took Harry to process the sheer volume of magical pain that had been inflicted without going mad.

At least the curse scar wasn't vomiting dark magic into Harry's system any longer. Poppy had assured him of that. The fact that it was ever involved was disturbing and led him to a conclusion he had hoped he would never reach. That Voldemort, terror of Britain, had finally returned to form and wielded the power of the Philosopher's Stone.

As stated, close. But not quite right.

.

* * *

.

Dumbledore sat in his chair pondering her question, stroking his chin absentmindedly.

"I am reactivating the Order."

She drew in breath so quickly it hissed. "Albus, you can't mean…"

"I'm afraid so, Molly. There is no other explanation."

She glanced nervously at the boy she had laid her arm around, rubbing his shoulder soothingly with her thumb. He was fiddling with the sleeve of her blouse, a look of both total disconnect and intense concentration somehow coexisting in the same expression.

"I know what you're thinking, but he can't hear us—not really. I've already contacted most of the other members. Those in key positions are on the lookout for signs of suspicious activities that might indicate his return."

"Arthur?" she asked. "Have you told him?"

"Indeed. He only refrained from telling you because I wished to do so myself." The aged wizard allowed himself a smile. "He seemed quite insistent that you be told the rest as soon as possible."

"The rest of what, Albus?"

He braced himself for impact. "Your two sons, Charlie and Bill, have both agreed to join the Order as agents abroad."

Surprisingly, none came. Only a rush of air as she exhaled the breath she again didn't know she was holding.

"Molly?"

"The moment you mentioned the Order I thought about how young we were when we joined. We weren't that much older than Bill."

"Thank you for your understanding. If Voldemort—" flinch "—truly has returned, then we must be prepared. Contingencies have been made for safehouses and we are searching for a proper Headquarters. Everyone in the Order is instructed to behave as if he is already back in Britain."

"During the last war you were never so… proactive."

"Well spoken, Molly," he said, and then sighed. For a moment, the veneer of a merry, wise Headmaster gave way to the weary, battle-hardened warrior that lay beneath. For all his decades of knowledge and experience, Albus Dumbledore was **old**. The moment passed. "I must confess that Harry's current state has led me to take more decisive action than I normally would. If Voldemort—" flinch "—was able to penetrate even Hogwarts and attack students and a professor, that means we must take steps to ensure it will not happen again.

That was only true in the strictest definition of the word. It was indeed Harry's current state that had Dumbledore all up in a tizzy, but not because of his attack per se. You see, if Harry was drooling on himself in a St. Mungo's ward, how could he possibly fulfill the prophecy that made him a target in the first place?

Harry had found a button on Mrs. Weasley's sleeve to fiddle with. Molly looked down at him with a mixture of worry and maternal affection.

"Oh, Albus. Are you sure he will get better soon?"

"I'm not sure of much of anything in these trying times, Molly. It may take weeks, it may take months. It may come gradually or all at once. We can only do our best."

Whirr-click. Whirr-click. The sound of the gears slowly beginning to turn. Unbeknownst to anyone, including Harry himself, what had been said in that kitchen did not fall on idle ears. Methodically, the cogs began to move and hum vibrantly.

Harry blinked, then closed his eyes.

.

* * *

.

Harry blinked, then opened his eyes.

"Harry! We have a surprise for you!"

Harry Potter still lay in bed on his back, hands to his sides, staring at the ceiling. He heard the sound of the door bursting open and footsteps indicating a person—no, two—had come in the room. He felt the tug of both yanking him out of bed and onto his feet. Each grabbed a wrist and led him downstairs.

"Come on ickle Harrykins,"

"It's time to party!"

"Surprise!"

"Not that it's much of a surprise when you can't hear us, of course."

"Ah, but to not hear Ronald or Ginny all day,"

"Is truly a treat!"

"I said to bring him down here, not heckle your little siblings!"

The twins shared a sheepish look and slung Harry past the last step before catching his momentum and setting him down. Mrs. Weasley looked him in the eyes and smiled.

"Happy birthday, Harry."

A chorus echoed from behind her. "Happy birthday, Harry!"

A person descended upon him, grasping his body in hers and whispering, "Happy birthday. I've missed you, Harry."

Another person, clasping him firmly on his shoulder, "We both have."

"We're so glad you can make it Neville, Hermione." Molly said. "I'm sure Harry appreciates it very much. Now sit, sit! I made you and your friends a cake, Harry. Dig in, all of you!"

Chatter buzzed around the table as the children discussed the next school year, the book list—okay, that was just Hermione—Quidditch, and so forth. Hermione sat next to Harry and would examine him occasionally, peering into his eyes or poking him to test a reaction and so on. Harry held his fork gingerly and took a bite of the cake and "mm'd" a sign of approval. Hermione shrugged and followed suit, pleasantly surprised to agree with him.

"This cake is delicious, Mrs. Weasley!" Hermione said

"It's not much," she demurred. "Just a little something I put together."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short. Even Harry likes it!"

The Weasleys all stopped speaking turned to her with a strange look on their faces. Mrs. Weasley was the first to respond. "Pray tell, how do you know he likes the cake?"

Hermione glanced nervously about at the twelve eyes—now fourteen thanks to Neville—and cleared her throat. A-hem a-hem. "Well, he didn't _say_ it, but he made an 'mmm' sound. That's what most people sound like when they like what they eat. What? Why are you all staring? That's not funny, you know."

"Hermione," Ron whispered, "that's the first time he's said _anything_ since he got here."

Her eyes widened. "You're telling me that was the first time he's vocalized at all since…"

"Yeah."

She clapped her hands together. "That must mean he's getting better! Keep eating, Harry!"

The table burst into laughter at her enthusiasm and devolved back into a muddle of conversations. Only Neville Longbottom remained stoic and simply poked and nibbled at the food set out in front of him. As they finished, the Weasleys started in on Harry with their presents. The twins gave him a pair of Multisense Mirrors, seeing as he'd liked the first one so much. Hermione gave him the book Recovering From Magical Maladies by renowned healer Ella Gamp.

"It's not like he can read it Hermione," earned Ron a swat from the frustrated girl who huffed and said he'd read it once he was better. Ron's gift was a Cannons poster, while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley gave him a necklace with a Snitch on the end ("Bill's idea," they said) that they were forced to remove soon after for fear Harry would paw at the Snitch indefinitely. The jolly mood was interrupted by Hermione's question.

"Where's your gift, Neville?"

A dour silence fell on the table. The twins shared a quick, meaningful glance before turning to face Neville.

"Now, kids," Mr. Weasley said, "perhaps Mister Longbottom simply wants to give it in private. Is that right?"

"_Yes_, sir," Neville ground out between gritted teeth. "That's it. May I borrow him for just a minute?"

"Certainly. Ron's room is upstairs to the right and should afford plenty of privacy."

"Thank you."

With that, Neville drug Harry from the chair walked him upstairs. Ron turned to the rest of the table and muttered, "What's his bloody problem?"

No response was forthcoming.

Neville pushed Harry inside and locked the door with a quick spell. He paced the room, wand in hand, and then came to a stop where Harry stood. He stared hard into his eyes, looking for some sign of life. Harry's face was blank as ever. Neville finally broke eye contact and paced again. He eventually stopped at a wall and leaned his head against it.

"_FUCK!_"

Without warning, Neville lashed out and slammed his closed fist into the wall in time with his shout; the room shook a bit, almost as if it were quaking in fear. He whirled from the wall, storming toward Harry. He grabbed him by the shoulders and began shaking him violently.

"Merlin's sake, I know you're in there! You're still in there somewhere," he screamed. "Stop mucking around Harry, get your arse out—!"

A knock on the door. "Neville, dear? I heard some loud noises, is everything okay?"

Neville froze, then sighed and turned to the door. "Fine, Mrs. Weasley. I'll just be another minute."

A pause. "That's all right, just hurry up, okay? The others still want to see Harry."

He heard footsteps fading downstairs. Cringing, he turned back to Harry and locked gazes again. Hot, angry tears were brimming from the eyes of the day older boy. "Why, Harry?" he whispered. "Why you too? You knew. You _knew_ what happened to my parents and you bloody well went and let it happen to you, too."

He choked out a laugh. "As if it's your fault and not mine. I told you I would stick with you. I _promised_ I wouldn't let anything like this happen. I failed. I'm a failure. That miserable snake-faced scumbag got you again while I was sitting on my hands in the Great Hall like a bloody idiot."

Neville wiped his eyes and took a minute to clear his head. Breathe in, breathe out. Sssssss, haaaaa. Sssssss, haaaaa. Better. "They told me you'd get better, not like Mum and Dad. Since I don't have a real present, this will have to do." Neville's countenance took on an incredible intensity. "Harry, I swear on my life that I will never, ever let anything like this happen again. Even if it kills me. Count on it."

A house elf popped into the room.

"_OUT. NOW!_" Neville roared.

Cowed, it popped right back out.

Harry blinked, then closed his eyes.

.

* * *

.

Harry blinked, then opened his eyes.

He was sitting upright in a train compartment, propped up by a shoulder on each side. Light, quiet conversation passed between the girls on either side of the boys keeping Harry upright, discussing Dumbledore's newspaper interview, the huge summer book list, and how exactly Harry kept ending up in the Weasley's shed all summer long. Harry's vacant gaze was drifting around the entrance to the compartment, which burst open at that moment. An incredulous Draco Malfoy stared at Harry before laughing loudly.

"The papers weren't kidding! Look at him! Daft as a stump with nothing to show for it but a Mudblood and a few blood traitors stuffed in a tiny compartment. I thought we had come to an agreement as equals last year, but obviousl-ghhkkkk—"

His sputtering noisebox was cut off by the sudden thrust and press of a wand into his trachea. His gaze shifted down and met furious brown eyes that pulsed an even darker shade with rage. Harry's eyes flashed with recognition. Even through the haze, he could sense it. Power. The last time he'd felt such a surge was… was…

A memory of explosive agony ripping through his forehead. A surge of uncontainable magic. Harry's eyes glassed over again.

"I will put you in the ground, Malfoy. Out. _Now,_" she seethed, pushing him backwards with her wand as she said the last word. He stumbled backwards and fell on his rear end, earning a chuckle from Ron.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Percy Weasley.

Draco swallowed to clear his aching throat. "It was them, Prefect, they attacked me!"

Percy poked his head into the compartment to find Ginny and Hermione nose-deep in books, while Ron and Neville were scribbling on parchment and propping Harry up.

"Anything I should know about? Ginny? Ronald?"

"Other than last minute homework? Nothing interesting," Ron said. "You're welcome to stay and help if you like, I could use someone to revise my—"

"I'm a Prefect, Ronald, I have duties. Besides, you should have done those months ago. You, on the ground, stay away from this compartment for the rest of the trip or it's points and detention."

Draco muttered something (probably pejorative, the tosser) and stalked off, Thing 1 and Thing 2 in close pursuit. As soon as Percy closed the door to the compartment, Ron was howling with laughter.

"Did you see the look on Malfoy's face! That bloody git was running scared from a first-year!"

"Language, Ronald."

"And that first-year is still in the compartment, _Ronald_."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. But man, the look on his face!"

The girls couldn't resist smiling at Ron's enthusiastic bellows of laughter before returning to their books. It wasn't long before Hermione peeked out from behind hers.

"Neville, did you really wait until now to do your assignments?"

He grunted.

"Honestly, I thought better of—"

"I was busy, okay? Lost track of the days. It's none of your business anyway."

"Fine then," she huffed, before returning to her book. A minute passed.

"Sorry, Hermione," he muttered. "I'm a bit touchy today."

"That's all right," she said, though not taking her eyes from the book.

"Today? Mate, you've been touchy since…"

"Ronald!"

He shrugged. "What? It's true. He hasn't done anything this summer, have you Neville?"

"Have you ever considered that he is handling the whole thing a bit worse than we are?" Hermione asked. "Or that not all of us have the emotional capacity of a brick? Honestly."

Ron mumbled something about women all being barmy and got back to his summer work.

"Neville," Hermione said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"I think I know what's wrong with Harry."

"What? Really?" His eyes grew wide.

She bit her lip. "Yes, but not in magical terms. I was doing some research in Muggle books over the summer and I found something that describes a lot of what Harry's going through," she said as she launched into full-on lecture mode. "It's called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD for short. Muggles get PTSD from very dangerous and stressful events, like combat or a kidnapping. Harry's case is… rather extreme, but I think it's a piece of the puzzle. Here's the thing, though. People with PTSD are supposed to have some kind of outlet, something that gets them out of the shell that they create to hide away from the terrible event, but I've never seen Harry do anything but… this."

Neville shrugged. "Maybe it's not that, then. Maybe it's just magic."

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe."

Harry blinked, then closed his eyes.

.

.

"This is Defense Against the Dark Arts, second year class. Despite what you may think about this subject considering your previous and only other professor, it is _not_ a dull, stutter-filled joke of a class. It is a serious discipline in which you will be training constantly, or you will not pass. Is that clear?"

Silence.

"I don't hear a 'no'. That's good to know, because from this day forth I will be working you as hard as I am legally allowed by the rules and statutes of Hogwarts. By the time you leave my class at the end of the year, you will be able to defend yourself against and at least escape from anyone," he flashed a feral grin, "or any_thing_ you may come across. That is unless, of course, you manage to fail my class, in which case I am not responsible for any of the stupid things you do once you leave this place. Is that clear?"

Silence.

"There will be no complaining to your classmates about your workload or you will get detention and points taken away. There will be no complaining to your Heads of House about your workload or you will get detention and points taken away. There will be no complaining of _any kind_ or you will get detention and points taken away. Is that clear?"

Silence.

"Good!" The man's disposition suddenly reversed one hundred and eighty degrees, back to its cheerful, bawdy self as he showed off his beauteous smile. "Now, let me inform you about bonus credit."

The class perked up at this. The professor grinned back at them.

"You'll need it. I hardly expect many students to pass this class without any bonus. There will be only one source of bonus points and they will be awarded at the end of the year. The way to get them is to win… THIS!"

He waved his wand at the board with a flourish and it lit up with a giant round robin bracket. The label at the top read 'Dueling Tournament'.

"Please, contain your excitement," he said, chuckling at his own joke as he swirled a glass of wine, poured out of a bottle that looked quite expensive. "At the end of the year, you and a partner will have a chance to show the whole class how much you've learned about the subject. The bonus starts the lowest for the team that finishes last and increases for each position gain. The duo that wins the tournament gets a full letter bonus on their final grade. Each."

The silence was broken by a sudden, near-deafening wave of chatter that erupted from the class of Slytherins and Gryffindors, excitedly discussing partners and dueling strategies. A sudden "Quiet!" and the class had settled again.

"Just what in Merlin's name do you all think you're doing? I don't believe I gave you permission to speak," he said, then pointing toward the girl with her hand in the air. "Yes, bushy hair?"

She felt her face flush at the nickname. "H-How else are we supposed to p-pick teams?"

She recoiled unconsciously at the bark of laughter that responded to her question. "Pick? Oh no, you won't be picking partners. They will be assigned. From the opposite house."

The roar went from near-deafening to actual-deafening.

"_Sonorous_. Quiet, _now_."

The class hushed again. He cancelled the spell and like the flick of a switch his mood shifted again. "Your bonus, and therefore your grade, will hinge on not only your own efforts, but also that of your partner. If you dislike your partner or think they are incompetent, you're going to have to find a way around it. If you don't like it, feel free to complain. I'll take those points and assign those detentions gladly."

He spoke now in hushed tones. "Part of escaping difficult situations may require you to work with people you don't like. That's a fact of life. If you can't get along with a person simply because they were sorted elsewhere from you, there's little hope for you in the real world." His attitude became happy once more. "That being said, the partner list, assigned at random, is as follows. Once you are assigned your partner, spend the rest of class getting to know their strengths and weaknesses. Your homework," a wave of wand, "is on the board. We'll start with, let's see here, Brown and Goyle, Team A…"

.

* * *

.

Harry blinked, then opened his eyes.

"Bloody hell! I regret ever calling that man a ponce."

"Language, Ronald."

"Did you see that homework he gave us? How are we supposed to learn those spells all by next class?"

"Practice, Ronald. I've already got two learned and I've started on my team project as well. My partner wasn't exactly thrilled…"

Ron snorted. "Fat chance that stuck-up Greengrass girl would even talk to a Muggleborn if she didn't have to. Tosser snakes, the lot of them."

Hermione scowled at him. "Wasn't exactly thrilled, but she'll be just fine. And I'll be fine once we win those bonus points, thank you very much."

"Oh," Ron said, "someone's confident. Me and Zabini are going to take it, just watch."

"That's 'Zabini and I', Ronald."

"Is that necessary, Hermione?" Neville snapped. "This is magic school, not grammar school. Besides," he said with a smile, "even if I am paired with his majesty the royal pompous git, he's still a better duelist than either of your partners. I ignore him, he ignores me, and we take you both down."

"Fat chance!" Hermione and Ron chorused.

Ginny walked over and sat in the empty seat to Harry's left. "So, how was Lockhart? Did he treat Harry all right? I don't want to see another Flourish and Blotts incident…"

"That's the thing," Hermione said. "I asked after class and Lockhart said his class wouldn't be of much use for someone in Harry's condition, so he's letting him do separate work elsewhere instead. He's so understanding."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Are you _still _on about him? Honestly, he might not be a ponce, but he still looks an awful lot like a poofter to me."

"Ronald!"

Neville couldn't help but chuckle as Hermione's indignant glare raked over Ron's guilty face. It was good to at least have a sense of normalcy. His laughter died in his throat as he saw the person he had come to respect and admire sitting to his right, struggling hopelessly with a cup of gelatin. He took the plate from Harry and replaced it with a glass of pumpkin juice, which he was content to sip.

"Never again."

"What was that, Neville?"

"Nothing Hermione. Just thinking aloud."

"If you say so."

Harry blinked, then closed his eyes.

.

* * *

.

Harry blinked, then opened his eyes.

"All right Harry, you can do this. Just feel what I do, okay? Get the exact motion, and point it right at the saucer. Imagine it becoming a thimble as you make the motion, come on now."

Transfiguration was nearly over and Harry had made no progress. Ron and Hermione were bickering about something petty like books or Quidditch or other cliché subjects while Neville was struggling to get Harry to turn a saucer into a thimble. He grunted in frustration.

"Harry. Motion. Saucer. Thimble. Just _do_ it!"

"Mister Longbottom!" Professor McGonagall scolded. "Is there any reason for such an outburst?"

"Professor, I was… holy smokes. Harry, your thimble!"

McGonagall's gaze drifted downward to find that Harry was indeed standing in front of a fully-formed, artistically shaped thimble. His wand was still pointing at it, a few sparks dribbling out.

"Did you do this for him?"

Neville shook his head. "No, Professor. I was getting frustrated with how he _wasn't _doing it just a few seconds ago. It looks like he's got it now."

"Seven points to Gryffindor, Mister Potter. Does mean that he said the incantation, Mister Longbottom? Has he finally spoken?"

Another shake of the head. "I'm afraid not, Professor. He did it wordlessly."

"Very impressive Mister Potter, take another five points. I expect your work to be at least as good, Mister Longbottom."

"Yes, Professor."

Ron rushed up to him as soon as she left and immediately whispered in his ear, "Mate, how did Harry do that?"

"I taught him," Neville growled. "You wanted to know what I was doing all summer while you were sitting on your lazy arse? This,_ mate_. I learned every bloody second year spell wordlessly so that I could teach Harry even though he can't speak. I learned every bloody second year potion and made them all more times than I can remember so that I could remember how many rotations to let him stir because if I don't stop him, he'll stand and stir until he drops dead. That, Ronald, is what I've been doing all summer. There, are you happy? You have no idea what it's like, having to deal with this kind of thing for so long."

"Yeah? How's that?" Ron said, tone escalating rapidly. "We've both been friends with Harry just as long, so unless you're implying tha—"

T'was all he got out before Hermione drug him away by his ear, muttering about keeping quiet in class. Neville offered a weak smile to Harry as class began to wind down. "We'll do it faster next class, Harry. Promise."

Harry blinked, then closed his eyes.

.

* * *

.

Harry blinked, then opened his eyes.

"—I don't know where he's going Ronald! He just took off on a blind tear! Literally, a blind tear, I think his eyes were closed!"

"He's still so bloody fast…" Ron muttered, gassed from the effort of chasing him.

"L-language… oh, forget it. Harry! Neville! Where are you?"

"Aha!"

The last voice was a new one, echoing rage down the hall. Ron and Hermione followed it to the source and found Filch screaming at Harry until Neville stuck a wand in his face. Oh yeah, it's that same old song and dance. Poor Voldemort still stuck in Albania has no idea how much danger one of his soul fragments is in trying to kill cats. After dissuading Filch from exacting his terrible Squib revenge against Harry, Lockhart appeared like clockwork. Surveying the situation, he immediately identified the most important issue at hand.

"Oh, Harry, you look simply dreadful. The aftereffects of some petrification curses can do this to passersby, of course, like the incident in Addis Ababa I wrote about in my autobiography. Come now, back to my office, I'll get you fixed right up."

"Gilderoy," Professor Dumbledore said, "perhaps Mister Potter and his friends would like to retire instead. It has been a long night."

"Nonsense! I'll have him fixed up in no time flat, you just watch," he said as he led Harry along. His three grademates followed in kind, leaving Dumbledore muttering something about authors' proclivities. He was close behind, followed by Professor Snape. Lockhart opened the door to his office, a magnificently atrocious and bright room with dedications to himself plastered all over the walls and on top of every available shelf and mantle.

"Do excuse the stench, as I've been making several potions in my spare time. A colleague of mine in North America simply had to have a chupacabra scent-masking potion, you see. Aha, here it is. Drink up, Harry! It will dispel the partial petrification effects quite quickly, I assure you. Aha, as if you'd need reassurance to believe Gilderoy Lockhart!"

He tipped the bottle and Harry drank the whole thing. Hermione interjected, "Sir, wasn't that just a Calming Draught?"

"Of course not!" he replied, taken aback by the accusation. "That potion takes months on end to prepare and can only be found in the Amazon basin, where the local tribesmen produce it as an antidote to some of the more vicious creatures' venom. Aha, but that's a tale for another book! Now, off you go! Don't forget to mention the help your favorite defense professor gave today to all your classmates, oh, and your family of course. Aha, and friends too!"

The last bit was barely heard as the four rushed out the door, eager to escape the torments of their weirdly bipolar Defense professor. Before they could get away, however, Dumbledore stopped them. Well, one of them anyway.

"I will bring Harry back to the Gryffindor commons myself. For now, I must speak with Madam Pomfrey regarding his condition. If you will excuse us."

The three looked sullen, but obeyed nevertheless. Hermione walked Harry toward Dumbledore, before leaving him with a squeeze of his hand. She joined the other two and disappeared down the hall. The mismatched trio of Headmaster, Potions Master, and mostly non-functioning boy strolled toward the Headmaster's office as Dumbledore and Snape went back and forth.

"Headmaster, did you see the inside of his office?"

"I'm afraid so," Dumbledore chuckled. "A bit garish for my tastes, but as I am not a best-selling author I suppose I'm not much of an expert."

"Not that. The potions. Does he expect anyone to believe that line about the North American magical creature? Headmaster, he's hiding something. I told you about my potion stores being broken into without triggering what I assure you are nearly impenetrable alarms…"

"Which may have been simple forgetfulness, Severus. I always told you that your stores are too extensive to keep track of in your head. You likely misremembered."

He sniffed. "Doubtful. And must we talk about this with Potter listening in?"

"He's harmless, Severus," Dumbledore said. "He hasn't the faintest idea what you're saying."

Harry was at that moment very anxiously picking at a loose strand of fabric on the clip of his hideously coloured backpack.

"Very well. Headmaster, there was a bundle of Boomslang skin on his shelf as well. You know as well as I do what that means."

Dumbledore cocked a brow. "There are many potions that require Boomslang skin."

"Yes, but only one that was stolen from my stores before class even started this year: Polyjuice Potion. I have reported on numerous occasions a child roaming the castle late at night with impunity. Every time I nearly catch him, the brat ducks around a corner with unnatural speed and disappears. Headmaster, I believe that Lockhart is Polyjuicing into students and skulking the halls. I recommend we place a watch on him immediately.

"I'm afraid not, Severus," Dumbledore said. "For all your accusations, you have no proof of any wrongdoing. Furthermore, it seems rather silly for a grown man to run around aimlessly dressed as a child, wouldn't you say? If you want to investigate who or what petrified Mrs. Norris, I can help by saying I highly doubt it's our new favorite writer. Eh, Severus?"

He turned away from the twinkle in his boss' eyes and walked away, cloak billowing behind him. Dumbledore looked down at Harry, who was playing with his beard again.

"Come now Harry, it's time to see Poppy again. You know how she worries."

.

.

Harry blinked, and opened his eyes.

A piercing shriek shattered the quiet of the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Professor Lockhart is _not_ the Heir of Slytherin!"

"It's the perfect disguise!" Ron protested. "Act like a total ponce in public, work your students so hard that they're too tired to figure out the truth, and no one's the wiser. You're just defending him because you have a crush on him!"

"Ronald!"

"Relax, you two. Ron, I doubt that Lockhart is the Heir of Slytherin. Hermione, he's a prat, get over it. Still, Ron does have a point about Lockhart." Seeing Hermione about to protest, Neville raised a hand to stop her. "First of all, he's been acting very strange all year, even for him apparently. Secondly, he's one of the few new additions to the castle since last year. The Heir had no reason to wait until this year to start terrorizing Hogwarts—"

"So that rules out almost everyone!" Hermione said. "Except for Professor Lockhart and the first years, everyone was here last year. Are you seriously implying that the Heir of Slytherin is a first year?"

Neville shrugged. "I'm not suggesting anything. I'm just following where common sense takes me. It's rather _logical_, wouldn't you say?"

"Well…" Hermione was struggling internally at the use of one of her favorite words. A first year being powerful enough to turn something to stone was ludicrous! Wasn't it? Just as absurd as the idea that magic existed would have been to her two years ago. Plus, Neville's reasoning was quite sound. "I suppose you might have a point. Let's say it is a first year. How do we figure out which one?"

No one spoke up.

"Right," Ron said. "It's not going to be that easy, mates. We've got a Slytherin freak on the loose, a suspicious Professor to investigate, and hopefully somewhere in there pass our classes. We still have a ton of Lockhart work to do, you know."

"Too well…" Neville muttered. Lockhart had intensified his teaching regimen, pounding dozens of spells into a learning period of a couple months. His warning of steep punishments for complaints was rendered moot by the fact that they were simply too tired to protest. "I haven't even touched the team project yet, not that Malfoy gives a toss about it either."

"You have to at least have an idea," Hermione said. "Come up with something both you and Malfoy can do well and put them together."

"Hate each other?" Ronald suggested.

"Oh, don't be a prat Ronald."

Neville's lip twitched upward just a tad. "No Ron, you're right. That's a good start."

Ron blinked. "It is?"

"Sure. You gave me a great idea. Don't be mad when I use it to win that bonus, though."

"Hey!" Ron was bumped aside and so repeated himself. "Hey! Watch it Ginny!"

Ginny had burst into the conversation frantically, asking "Where's my bag?" over and over and sighing with relief when she found it sitting next to Harry. She took it and walked away, digging through it as she walked, then froze and whirled around.

"Have any of you seen my diary?"

"Since when do you keep a diary?" Ron asked.

"Since now, Ron. It's a thin black notebook, have you seen it or not?"

None of them had, except for Harry. He had definitely seen it, in the bag of a Hufflepuff first year whose name he didn't even know. After all, he was the one who put it there.


	12. Interlude: The Vagaries of Magic

Year Two

**The Vagaries of Magic (Interlude)**

Magic is a many-faceted thing. To understand the world Harry Potter lives in, the world Harry Potter creates, knowing the nature of magic is eventually necessary. Though there are many so-called "schools" of magic—transfiguration, charms, runes, and the obnoxiously nebulous "Dark Arts"—broken up into categories, those are simply arbitrary mnemonics, created for ease of learning. The origin and source of magic are a mystery as old as time, but as mankind has come to use it and manipulate it something important became apparent to the most perceptive witches and wizards. At its core, magic is about just two things: intent and focus. Almost any question about magic can be related to these two simple truths.

For example, why are some wizards more powerful than others? Intent and focus. Tom Riddle is an exceptionally bright and talented wizard to be sure, but his true magical force comes from the torrent of intent put into each spell. Every curse and jinx he wields has the force of every fiber of his being, poured into want and released in power.

Albus Dumbledore, his opposite in the first war, is his opposite in this sense too. Dumbledore certainly has strong latent intent as a wizard, but his real strength comes from his focus. For example, if Tom Riddle were to hastily conjure a chair, it would be adequate and possibly comfortable if he so desired. If Dumbledore did the same, the chair would be unique in every way and ornately detailed, down to the phoenixes carved into the redwood armrests and the garishly decorated padding—with no real effort on his part. It is just as he imagined it.

This is why a witch like Hermione Granger could never be a truly powerful magic user. While her inborn brilliance and focus are beyond equal in all Britain, her intent is sorely lacking. Her years of Muggle schooling and a penchant for academia made magic an intellectual exercise for her rather than a practical one. For her, learning new spells is about the fact that new knowledge was acquired and not what can be done with that knowledge.

But what does this have to do with Harry Potter? Everything, of course. Harry Potter's life is the unwelcome convalescence of some of the most powerful magic ever wielded: Horcruxes, blood wards, Fidelius Charms, on and on ad nauseum. Ironically, the most powerful type of all is not even real magic; in 2021 it was discovered that prophetic trances are actually a symptom of a type of schizophrenia only developed in magical people, more prevalent in females than males.

Whoops. Sorry about that Harry. Honest mistake.

So Harry's all mixed up with potent magics flowing in and around him, right? Some of them are directly conflicting with one another, all the while his magical and non-magical development was still ongoing, when he encountered Voldemort and the Stone. When the power of the Stone forced its way through the link between the two wizards, the first thing it interacted with was its magical intent antithesis: the Horcrux.

.

* * *

.

A Horcrux is a bit of magic that requires both intent and focus, but much more of the former. Human beings are inherently social and defensive of one another over any other species, and the highest level of disconnect one can get from their own humanity is to violate this basic instinct, to kill another person. This is why some of the most powerful magics are rooted in human sacrifice. The Horcrux takes this and focuses many intents—greed, fear, contempt—to break one's soul, one's humanity, apart.

As Riddle created more Horcruxes, he became more proficient. His first was crude and poorly made, the heady flow of his first kill still lingering in his mind and disrupting his focus. This mistake meant it became more than just a place to hide a piece of his soul and gained a level of autonomy all its own. Over the course of a decade it eroded the will of Lucius Malfoy and compelled him to sneak it into Hogwarts, the only other place it knew. Riddle never made the same mistake, his next five all being perfectly made and each more powerful than the next. The ones placed in objects were able to defend themselves with crude but deadly Dark Magic, while the one in the snake grew it to unnatural proportions and imbued it with magical power of its own.

.

* * *

.

Riddle's last Horcrux was the most powerful. It was the first recorded incidence of a Horcrux being made out of a human being, conferring abilities on its container in an unheard of fashion and linking it with the original soul. When this bastion of incredibly powerful magic rooted in intent marred by "death" was met by the even stronger magic of the Stone in the intent of "life", the result was catastrophic.

A person's mind and their magic are both inextricably linked and mutually exclusive. Magic can cause both physical pain (such as with the Cruciatus Curse) and magical pain (such as in cases of magical exhaustion). When Harry's mind was caught in the crossfire, he was forced to experience both at once, in horrible intensity. The human brain is only capable of experiencing so much pain before it shuts down all non-essential functions, such as in the case of Frank and Alice Longbottom. Harry would have been left like them forever had the Stone's power not finally overcome the Horcrux.

He was left without magic or mind, but living around vibrant ambient magic allowed Harry to pull from it, as Dumbledore predicted. The "inextricably linked" worked in his favor this time and slowly but surely his magic repaired his mind, starting with the simplest connections. The last thing to return, then, must be cognition—conscious thought. Until then, Harry is at the mercy of his own self.

Uh-oh.


	13. Chapter 2: The New Headmaster

Year Two

**Chapter 2: The New Headmaster**

Harry blinked, then opened his eyes.

"—with my diary!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Come off it Ginny. This isn't even the same girl as last time!"

"Why don't you get a new one? You had only just started—"

"Because I want it back, Hermione," she snapped. "What business is it of yours anyway? It's a diary, not a textbook."

Hermione's mouth opened ever-so-slightly with surprise, doubly so when Ron replied. "When did you get to be such a mean little bint? Honestly Ginny, have you no manners?"

"Have you no brain?"

As she stormed off, Hermione called out after her, "That doesn't even make sense! Without a brain none of his motor functions would even—"

She stopped as Ron's chuckling had developed into full-blown laughter. He slowed up when he saw her eyes dim and a dozen emotions flash across her face. Even he knew the early warning signs of a hormonal teenage girl about to take offense to something.

"No, no, Hermione, that was brilliant," he said and he clapped her across the back lightly. She smiled faintly and hesitantly managed a "Really?"

"Definitely. She would have tried to get the last word in but for your… incredible retort."

"I still think you're making fun of me."

"Maybe a little, but you can take it."

She laughed and punched his arm. "Prat."

"If you two are about done?"

Neville strode into the Gryffindor Common Room with a pile of books nearly up to his eyes, which were narrowed in some irritation and more than a bit of strain. He raised his eyebrows in question. "A little help? Anyone?"

"Sorry," Ron said, grinning sheepishly.

The books joined a larger pile on the table where they sat. Around the table, three chairs were pushed away, but only two had open books in front of them. The other had a closed book on the chair itself.

"Where'd the brood head to, Ron?"

Ron shrugged. "Fred and George said they had detention, but I think they're out pranking with Lee again. They aren't taking it very seriously—"

"Shocking."

"—they still—har har, Neville, hilarious—they still have the idea that the professors will handle it."

Neville sighed in irritation. "The professors don't give a toss about this whole thing. On the contrary, I for one would prefer **not** to be petrified or killed by whatever is moving about the castle and attacking with no warning or detection. Did you find anything while I was at the library getting more… actually, that's a dumb question. Hermione would be bouncing out of her chair if she had found something and pouting with disbelief if Ron had. And where is Ginny?"

"Watch it, Longbottom," Hermione said with a mock scowl, her slight smile betraying her bemusement, "and Ginny left a few minutes ago."

"Not that my dear little sister helps anyway." Ron lifted a bag that sat on the floor half-heartedly, then let it fall again. She'd forgotten it. The flash of irritation was probably because he knew he would have to watch it for her, again. "Keeps going on about that stupid diary or falling over to help Harry like he's the second coming of Merlin."

No one caught it, but a flicker of a smile passed Harry's face. A certain, mostly dormant part of him found amusement in the idea that she did all that while he was the root of her current ire, unbeknownst to her.

"So that Valentine's Day poem?"

"It had to be from her. Not to mention that card he got for him for Christmas. He couldn't even read it! She read it to him, in front of me! I swear, she's obsessed. It's only a matter of time before she brews a love potion and assaults him.

"Now you're being too harsh, Ronald," Hermione scolded. "Ginny has really helped Harry, even if her motivations are a bit, er, suspect."

"Suspect? She drew a picture of him—ugh—kissing her and saying "Thank you, Ginny" after he got better thanks to the power of love or some rubbish."

Hermione muffled a chuckle that threatened from the back of her throat as she turned another page in the book about she was skimming for references to petrification spells. "I hadn't heard about that one. But really, she's eleven and has a crush, she'll get over it. Besides, no one else has been able to get through to Harry like she has—"

"—only because she spends every possible minute with him—"

"—_even so_, Ronald! She's not old enough to help with this," another page flipped, "and none of us have the time to stay with him so much because of Lockhart. Who, by the way, goes easier on the first years apparently. Ginny said he was boring!"

Neville raised a single brow. "_Boring_? I can see 'unappealing' or 'obsessive'—"

"Or 'tyrannical'."

"—yes, or that Hermione, but boring? Lockhart is off his rocker. My only consolation is the torment Malfoy must be going through trying to make sure Crabbe and Goyle pass."

Ron snickered loudly at that. Hermione just smiled and flipped another page.

"Besides," Neville said, voice lowering, "I know Ginny can't really do much here, but that doesn't mean we can let up."

"Are you worried about us?"

"Not us, Hermione. Him."

She looked to the chair to her left where Neville glanced. Harry was leaning forward in his chair and tapping the tip of his wand against the table aimlessly. The spot he tapped turned red, then blue, then lit on fire, then back to wood, then flowers grew out of it, then those disappeared and the table was back to wood.

"If something happens to him again, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself. That day in Herbology—"

"Wasn't your fault."

"That doesn't matter, Hermione. I should have made sure."

Ron shrugged. "Who could have known he'd start chewing on his earmuffs during the mandrake lesson? Mate, you beat yourself up way too much about this."

"No!" Neville hissed, causing Hermione to jolt upward a good few inches in surprise. "I don't think I do. The day Quirrell attacked him… I sat in the Great Hall for an _hour_ waiting for him before I finally had a thought in my brain that something might be amiss. Getting back to the Common Room to find the twins celebrating a stupid game instead of watching the map was the worst feeling I've had in my life. Do you understand that? The worst?"

Ron and Hermione winced at the way he emphasized the last word, but Neville kept going.

"Finding out that my parents were tortured into insanity by Death Eaters was like," their eyes widened at this revelation, "a pinch in the arm compared to showing up in the Hospital Wing and finding Harry in the same state. The one person who ever believed—" he started choking up and paused for just a moment before hushing to a stilted whisper, "—not even my own grandmother thought I would ever amount to anything. Thought I was a Squib. But he never once doubted me, trusted me of all people, and this is what happens? I almost wish I were a Squib, then I'd have an excuse for being this incompetent."

"Neville…"

"Mate, we had no idea… about your mum and dad, or—"

Neville silenced him with a look. "You wouldn't understand, Ron. You just wouldn't," he sighed deeply and looked across the table to the witch who was avoiding his gaze. "But you do, don't you Hermione?"

The tears that had been welling in her eyes began plopping on the pages of the book in front of her as she ducked her head, refusing to make eye contact. "The troll. I... I could… no, _would _have died if it weren't for Harry. I've…" she shifted awkwardly in her chair, "I've had nightmares. The day he was hit with a Bludger after the match, I see him falling and falling and I cast every spell I can, but nothing happens. He hits the ground head first and lies still, facedown in the grass. I run to him and turn him over and all I can see is his face. That cold, lifeless face. I can't get it out of my head."

Ron was pale as a ghost by this point. Neville was nodding, barely, but in understanding.

"His eyes are glazed over then, the same way they are now. Every time I make eye contact all I can see his him lying there in the center of the pitch, spine broken, not moving—"

She could say no more. She had by now put her legs up on the chair and was curled up in herself so that they wouldn't see how bad her body was shuddering, or how loud the choking sobs that wracked her body were becoming. Neville sat with his head bowed silently, as if he almost appreciated the company in misery. When Ron stood silently and lamely put a hand to her shoulder (c'mon, he's barely into puberty, it's the thought), she turned into him and soaked his robes in a mixture of tears, drool, and viscous snot.

Neville shielded the sides of his eyes with his hands as he distractedly skimmed his book and did not react to how Hermione was letting it all out. It was just a matter of experience. He had nearly blown up his room when he had gone through similar reactions. His grandmother nearly had a heart attack when she walked in on one. Literally.

"It's not your fault Ron. There's something about Harry when he's not like this. He has a way about him, like he already knows you. Like if you follow his lead, you can be better than you ever could on your own. Look at me! I was a doddering wreck when I got here. Now I'm the one getting him through… whatever this is. You'll get it someday Ron, I know."

Ron sighed as she was finally reduced to sniffles and the occasional shudder and was relieved when he saw no one else but the three of them in the Common Room. They were probably five or ten minutes from dinner at this point, so most of them would be in the Great Hall. They'd probably have to get dinner soon, if anything for… hold on, _no one else_?

"Wait, where's Harry?"

Neville's eyes left his book one moment and his arse left his chair the next. Hermione wiped her eyes and called after him.

"Neville!"

"I'll take the Great Hall, Ron take the dorms, Hermione find the twins and get the map. Now!"

After the three had left the room entirely devoid of people, Harry let the invisibility cloak fall off himself. His face was still featureless, but his emerald eyes were lit with a flare of lucidity behind his glasses. Mechanically, he reached into his ugly, mottled backpack and pulled out a thin black notebook. The notebook took on an ethereal sheen for a moment, then faded. The same glow briefly lit Harry's green eyes even brighter, then again faded. He immediately placed it on top of the table by where Ron had been sitting, then dropped his cloak in his pack and resumed his normal sitting position. As the fire in his eyes began to dim, he finally had a thought, a question, a single word.

'Timing?'

When he heard the Fat Lady berating someone's rudeness, then her opening up, then the sound of plodding footsteps, then hear the source of the steps say, "Come on Harry, it's dinner. Let's—my diary! Ronald, I swear when I get my hands on you—," he knew the answer. A brief flicker of a smile, then his eyes glazed over again. As he finally succumbed, he faintly heard some scribbling, then a barely intelligible mutter reluctantly agreeing not to yell at… something… or someone… oh, it was easier not to think. He let the hand take him and pull him to his feet.

Everything went numb.

Harry blinked, then closed his eyes.

.

* * *

.

Harry blinked, then opened his eyes.

"You were with him? The whole time?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I told you, I took him to dinner. Just because you three were busy with your little project—"

"It's not a project! We're trying to find out what is stalking and attacking things before it gets one of us! Or are you not worried about it?"

Ginny flushed. "Well…"

Neville gaped. "Are you seriously not concerned about the prospect of a dark wizard or creature roaming the castle?"

"I don't have to put up with this," Ginny said, voice growing cold. Before anyone could respond, she grabbed her bag and stormed out of dinner.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Was it just me, or was her diary sticking out of her bag? I swear, if it's been in there the whole time…"

"Not an issue," Neville said with a curt tone. "Fred, George? How is your latest project doing?"

"Not—"

"Great."

They shrugged. Fred continued, "We tried changing one of our prank ideas around a bit to get the result you wanted, but we've been having a bit of trouble. I know you wanted some way to keep track of Malfoy—"

"Malfoy?" Hermione interjected. "What's he got to do with this?"

"My grandmother has been sending me letters about Ministry politics, says now that I'm acting like an adult that I should learn how to manage the Longbottom affairs when the time comes," Neville explained. "Old man Malfoy has been putting pressure on Dumbledore ever since the incident last year. That Hufflepuff girl being killed didn't get much attention because her parents didn't want any press and she was only a half-blood who lived in a Muggle neighborhood—"

"_Only_ a half-blood?" Hermione said with a scowl.

"Oh come off it, you know what I mean. That's how people see things, whether you like it or not," Neville retorted. "Anyway, the rumors about the Chamber being opened again have given him the opening he needs. He's been featured in the Prophet several times saying that Dumbledore is getting senile and can't run the school anymore. I hardly think that's a coincidence."

"_Anyway_," George said. "Back on topic, the Eavesdropping Earwigs—"

Hermione gagged.

"—are still in testing," Fred said.

"Once we get the things to stop shrieking every time they hear a girl's voice they should work well enough."

"Speaking of which, dear brother—"

"Oh yes, we were going to modify the Sonorous Charm for the playback."

"We got held up in detention—"

"Apparently we're the primary suspects whenever fowl is killed."

"Fowl killed?" Neville asked.

"Roosters of Hagrid's—"

"That we might have been purloining raw eggs from—"

"For a few of our recreational pursuits—"

"But we certainly wouldn't kill our moneymakers now would we?"

"So if you'll excuse us—"

"We have work to do!"

Ron sighed as the twins sauntered away. "I must figure out how they do that someday."

"Oh whatever," Hermione said. "I hadn't heard the rumors about Dumbledore. I haven't had time to read the Prophet with all the research I've been doing."

"Research?" Neville asked. "Have you been working on something other than this petrification thing?"

"Well," Hermione said, tingeing pink a bit, "I have been doing a little extra on the side trying to figure out Harry's condition."

Harry idly forked a single green bean into his mouth for the twenty-third time in a row.

"And?" Ron asked before munching on another roll.

"Not much I'm afraid. I basically have to create the entire field of Wizarding psychology all on my own because in _your_ world," she scowled at Neville lightly, "anyone who's got a problem is either shipped to St. Mungo's where they're babysat without any treatment or locked in a room away so they won't embarrass their precious Pureblood family."

Neville's eyes narrowed at a sore subject. "Not my fault."

"Regardless," Hermione continued, "what I call 'Wizarding PTSD' has been recorded numerous times, but never identified it as a problem. A particularly bad untreated case led to the dismissal of a respected Auror recently, one Alastor Moody."

Neville smirked. "That's Mad-Eye for you."

"That isn't funny! The man has a serious disorder and no one treats it because they're too ignorant to care," Hermione said. "Besides, if they'd bothered, we might have more information to help with Harry. As I was saying, I've been doing this from scratch so it hasn't been easy. Some things are similar and some things aren't. For example, my research has indicated that there should be some kind of outlet for Harry, some way that he begins to break out of his shell. But he hasn't done anything like that!"

"I saw him out of bed on his own once," Ron chipped in. "Found him in the loo one night."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's normal, Ron. Basic functions is one thing, but I'm talking about serious cognitive faculties!"

"About what?"

"Thinking, Ron! He should be able to think by now, even if it's limited to only one thing. This lack of progress can mean only two things."

Hermione paused, her throat seizing up. Neville looked up from his food and took a deep breath. "Yes?"

"Either he's somehow recovering without our knowledge or… or he's not getting better."

There was silence at the table, but for the clinking of utensils against plates. Other Gryffindors had been listening in with great interest and at the second option stopped their hushed whispers and looked very concerned.

Harry idly forked a single green bean into his mouth for the fifty-seventh time in a row.

.

* * *

.

Rumors about Harry's condition were as wild as they were numerous. Some said he had attempted a piece of dark magic and it backfired. Others said he was attacked by Quirrell, whose mysterious disappearance had forced Dumbledore to switch from Potions (once Snape had been awoken from his attack, apparently with no knowledge of the perpetrator—convenient, Harry had thought at the time) to DADA. Some said that it had something to do with his scar and a select few even proposed—get this—that Voldemort had attacked him.

How is it that everyone is a little right, anyway? Except for little Luna Lovegood, of course, who had made Harry five bracelets made of Firewhiskey caps on strings of twisted-together Spell-O-Tape before his friends stopped taking them off and throwing them away. She shied away from Harry like the plague, but always kept an eye on him from the Ravenclaw table. Worst Wrackspurt infestation she'd ever seen, apparently.

Who can say? Who—

Just kidding.

.

* * *

.

The silence was interrupted unceremoniously by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.

"Students, if I may have your attention? The Great Hall is currently sealed from the inside. There has been another petrification attack, this time with students involved. Please stay in your seats and remain calm until you are cleared to leave. Thank you."

Neville grimaced. "I knew we were running out of time."

"Wait," Ron said, rapidly paling, "Ginny is out there! We have to—"

"Ron, you heard Professor Dumbledore! The entire Hall is locked, we can't leave even if we wanted to," Hermione said. "Besides, what do you want to do? Get petrified too?"

Ron looked agitated at her sensibility. "Harry would have gone after her."

Hermione's face dropped.

"Don't," Neville said, with grit in his voice, "even go there. We don't know what he would do and using his name as a tool isn't helping anything."

The three went quiet.

Harry idly forked a single green bean into his mouth for the eighty-second time in a row.

Several minutes passed in uncomfortable silence. Dumbledore rose again.

"Students, please accompany your Head of House back to your Common Room. Prefects, please assist in whatever way your Head of House asks. May I ask Ronald and Percy Weasley to accompany me to my office?"

Down the table, Percy looked white as a sheet. Ron wasn't doing much better.

"No," he whispered, head bowed in his hands, "this isn't happening."

"Ron…" Hermione placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be okay. The mandrake—"

"Won't be ready for months! And the last thing I said to her was so harsh."

Neville seemed to have the same thing in mind. He wasn't looking so good himself.

"It'll be okay. Professor Dumbledore will know what to do."

Ron nodded weakly at Hermione's statement. "Can you two at least come with me?"

Neville nodded. "Of course. We'll bring Harry, too. Right, Harry?"

Harry was still chewing on his ninety-first green bean.

.

* * *

.

In the Headmaster's office, Fawkes the phoenix was trilling a mournful tune. As Harry and the others entered on Dumbledore's heels, they saw that Arthur and Molly Weasley had already arrived and were sitting nervously in their chairs. At Dumbledore's arrival, they jumped up.

"Oh, Headmaster!"

"Please, Molly, you know you can call me Albus."

"Albus, our children," Arthur said, with clear hesitation in his voice. He didn't want to know the answer to the question he was about to ask. "What happened to our children?"

Albus shook his head remorsefully. "Ronald and Percival are fine. I'm afraid it's—"

"Ginny!"

The door opened again and Ginny took a careful step inside. She looked haggard and worn, presumably from rushing there. Molly got up and engulfed her a tight hug. "We were so worried!"

"Mum…"

Dumbledore cleared his throat and Molly released her only daughter in a flush. "As you can see, Ginevra is fine. Unfortunately, there has been another petrification. We found the victims holding these," Dumbledore said, holding two mirrors. Multisense Mirrors.

"Fred! George!" Ron yelled.

"That is indeed the case, Mister Weasley. Fred and George are in the Hospital Wing as we speak, the latest victim of whatever prowls these halls. Another message was left as well, impugning so-called blood traitors. Unfortunately, this has gotten much more serious than an incapacitated cat."

Molly fainted. Arthur was nearly apoplectic, gripping the armrests of his chairs so tight his knuckles looked like they would pop off. "The twins? Will they be…"

"Not to worry, Arthur," Dumbledore said, "the Mandrake Drought will be ready before the school year is out and—"

"That's months from now Albus! You can't tell me not to worry when my children have been attacked by some… monster and might have to repeat a year!"

Albus rubbed his head tiredly. "I know, Arthur. Rest assured we are doing everything we can to get to the bottom of this. As it stands, the twins are not harmed permanently and we must be thankful for that."

"Professor," Hermione said, "do you know yet who are what is doing this to the students?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm not sure, Miss Granger. It is my conjecture, however, that the Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened again."

The whole room shuddered with that, except Harry. He was fiddling with Hermione's curls again. The fireplace suddenly lit up and a tall, regal figure stepped out of the flames.

"Well, what have we here? A motley collection, I see."

Arthur leapt to his feet, a vein already bulging in his forehead and his voice laced with venom. "What are you doing here, Lucius? Come to mock my family when two of our own have been attacked?"

The elder Malfoy looked surprised. "Not at all, Arthur. As a matter of fact, it is for the exact opposite reason that I am here today. The Board of Governors has heard of the attack, as you might imagine, and I must say that none of us are pleased with this latest… development. Do not forget that I, too, have a child at Hogwarts, Arthur."

Arthur sat with a burning glare still on his face, but temporarily placated.

"So," Lucius continued, "the Board wishes to know what progress you have made in regards to the resolution of this crisis, Headmaster."

"I am doing all I can to determine the cause of these attacks, as you know. The students are my number one priority Lucius, surely you do not doubt that."

"Your intentions may be pure, Headmaster," Lucius said, "but facts must be faced. One student has already died within the last year and now two have been petrified, with no solution in sight. Some question your capability to handle the job of Headmaster."

"And are you one of those people, Lucius?"

He inclined his head slightly, indicating nothing more than that he heard the question. "I simply want what is best for the students, including my son. If you are unable to provide a safe learning environment, a new Headmaster is required. On that note, here is a new missive from the Board."

He handed Dumbledore a sheet of paper. Dumbledore read it, eyes narrowing at the text and his face twisted into a deep frown. "If this is what the Board wishes…"

"I assure you, it is."

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said, "what did the Board of Governors say?"

"I'm afraid I am no longer Professor Dumbledore to you, Miss Granger. I have been relieved of my duties as a member of the Hogwarts staff."

Everyone in the room had a stunned, scandalized look on their face. Ron nearly exploded.

"But then who will be Headmaster!"

"Probably a Head of House, Ronald," Hermione answered. "McGonagall, maybe. Flitwick or Snape could as well."

"It is not a current Professor, little girl," Lucius said with a pompous gaze fixed on her. "Do not be so presumptuous as to know the intentions of the Board. We are merely appointing a temporary Headmaster until a permanent solution can be found."

"But then who will be Headmaster!" Ron cried indignantly.

Hermione's jaw dropped at his derogatory remark. The former Headmaster cleared his throat, and all attention fixed on him. His face was grave and the room held its collective breath to hear his announcement.

"The Board of Governors has decreed that your interim Headmaster," Dumbledore said, "will be Board member Lucius Malfoy."


	14. Chapter 3: The Beginning of the End 1

Chapter 3

**Year Two: The End of the Beginning, Part One**

The reactions by those in the Headmaster's office were mixed.

Naturally, the mixture was composed largely of suppressed outrage and unsuppressed outrage.

Arthur Weasley, already torn between frustration and fear, was silent and trembling like a man literally possessed. His palms were practically raining sweat as he vainly brushed them on his robes over and over, though of course they never quite dried. His head was bowed in the kind of pain that only a distraught father can feel.

His wife, Molly Weasley, was still passed out, unable to handle the stress of the situation.

Their son, Percy Weasley, was wearing a stoic mask, but his brow was furrowed with clear distress. He occasionally mopped his forehead with his sleeve, staring at Dumbledore with a questioning look.

His brother, Ron Weasley, was verbally exploding, but we'll get back to that.

His friend, Neville Longbottom, was grinding his teeth with anger. He looked half a second away from whipping out his wand and firing every spell he knew at the elder Malfoy.

Their friend, Hermione Granger, was stuck in fish mode. Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly, with no words managing to find their way out. Her eyes darted back and forth between the suspended Headmaster and his current replacement, widened in disbelief.

Harry Potter was still engaged in a staring contest with the phoenix Fawkes, whom he apparently found quite fascinating. Fawkes was losing.

Now, back to the youngest Mister Weasley. He was still exploding, face redder than his hair. He stood suddenly and jabbed an index finger at Malfoy.

"You can't do that! Dumbledore is the Headmaster!"

Lucius smiled. "I am afraid you are as dreadfully ignorant as usual, little boy. The Headmaster serves at the pleasure of the Board of Governors," he said, then scowled. "We are not pleased."

"But you can't just kick him out of Hogwarts," Ron protested. "He's the most powerful wizard in the world! Who else could do better than him?"

"Obviously brat, the Board has decided that I can," Lucius said, scowling. "You would do well to remember your place and respect your _Headmaster_."

Ron glared back, but said nothing as the former Headmaster chose to interject.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, lifting his head and setting the Board's message down on his desk, "but the boy does have a point."

Lucius cocked his head at Dumbledore the way a man controlling a hostage situation turns his gun on an unruly captive. "Do tell."

Dumbledore smiled. "The instructions from the Board are very clear, Lucius. I will not be forced to leave the castle, nor must I vacate my office. In fact, the Board explicitly requested I remain and do my best to find the culprit behind these attacks. I have temporarily been demoted to Assistant Headmaster, with Minerva as my adviser, and will handle the day-to-day activities of Hogwarts."

"But Professor Dumbledore, what else does the Headmaster do?" Hermione asked. "If he isn't running the school, what is the point of making him Headmaster?"

Malfoy looked like he wanted to strangle her. His fingers twitched a bit on his crossed arms, as if he were doing just that.

"An excellent question, my dear," Dumbledore replied, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Lucius will have executive decision-making powers, of course, but the maintenance of school matters will be left to the existing staff. As it happens, the Board is pleased with the academic standards of the school. It is merely the... ah, temporary safety concerns that have led to this decision. Did I miss anything, Lucius?"

The poor man looked like his muscles had frozen into place with the restraint it took to keep them in place. He nodded his head begrudgingly, recalling how hard it had been to force even those terms down the throats of the Board. "Nothing, Albus, except for your seeming disregard for the health of your students. Referring to petrifications perpetrated by an unknown assailant as a 'temporary safety concern' only highlights your whimsical approach to the security of the castle. That is why I have been given _overriding_ authority as Headmaster."

Dumbledore smiled. "Of course, the Board also said that if things deteriorate under your leadership, the status quo would be restored."

"You sound as if you would welcome another attack simply to displace me from my position, Professor. I hope you do not let this conflict of interests delay your investigation of these ruthless attacks on schoolchildren."

"I would never entertain such a thing, as you well know Lucius. The students are my number one priority."

"And yet, that has not prevented the death of a student and the incapacitation of two more in the past year," Lucius drawled, sparing a significant look for Harry, who was still pawing through Hermione's mane, "as well as the mysterious condition Mister Potter… _developed_ recently. Perhaps a new perspective is needed in the Headmaster's office."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore assuaged. "For now, I will use the time afforded to me by the relief of my duties to search for the truth behind the troubles that have beset these hallowed halls."

He shuffled some papers. "In fact, I shall start with that immediately. Lucius, an office has been set up for you. If you wish, I may show you—"

"I can see myself out, Professor. I will keep in touch regarding some of the _changes_ that will be coming to Hogwarts. Enjoy the company of these… people while you can, Albus. The next change may involve your employment."

With that, he strode to the door. Suddenly, he whirled back and, before anyone could stop him, snatched Ginny's bag off the floor.

"Hey!" she cried. "That's mine!"

"Lucius, get your hands off my daughter's things, or so help me I—"

He held the bag in front of Arthur and smiled coldly. "You are mistaken, Arthur. I have taken this not as Lucius Malfoy, head of House Malfoy, but as Lucius Malfoy, Headmaster of Hogwarts, investigating a security concern. If Miss Weasley has no objectionable items in her bag, she would not object to a search, would she?"

She glared at him, but said nothing. He flicked slowly from book to book at first, but after passing through everything once his rifling grew frantic and after a minute of awkward silence, he was practically yanking things out of her bag. Finally satisfied, he stuffed everything back in haphazardly and shoved the bag into her hands.

"Take this ratty thing back, then."

Dumbledore looked at Malfoy curiously. "Were you searching for something in particular, Lucius? Perhaps I can help you find whatever it is you—"

"No," he snarled, "it was merely an example of the kinds of steps I will be taking as Headmaster to ensure the safety of the students. I have nothing more to say now, perhaps you should send these children back to their Common Rooms so they do not violate curfew, _Assistant Headmaster_."

With that, he spun to the door and actually did leave this time. When he did, the whole room released a collective sigh of relief. Except for Harry, of course, who was sitting on a slim black notebook. Arthur broke the silence.

"Is this the only way?"

Dumbledore nodded genially. "I am afraid so, Arthur. The Board was quite clear on their demands. Even the Governors who I am on friendly terms with are very displeased with the situation. Your grandmother in particular was rather… vociferous," he said, giving a pointed look to Neville. "It was all I could do to moderate the terms as I did."

"**My** grandmother was a party to this?" Neville asked, face darkening. "I think we are overdue for a talk."

A surprised look flashed across Dumbledore's face for a moment, but receded. "Yes, of course. I must apologize for subjecting you all to that discussion with Mister Malfoy. His timing was most unfortunate. Arthur, Molly?"

Mrs. Weasley was slowly coming to. "A-Arthur? Where… Arthur, the twins! The clock! Mortal danger!"

Arthur held her closer. "Shh, it's all right. They aren't badly hurt."

"_Badly_ hurt?" Molly moaned, still groggy. She turned weakly to Dumbledore. "What…?"

"They are unharmed, Molly, but incapacitated at the moment. I am afraid that they have been petrified."

"P-petrified?" she asked. "By who?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I must admit that Lucius is right in this case. I do not know who or what has been skulking the corridors in recent weeks. Petrification is powerful, dark magic, something most students are simply incapable of performing. Either there is an intruder in the castle or some kind of creature has made its way here."

Molly opened her mouth, but Dumbledore cut her off. "As for the boys, they will not be out of commission for very long. We will have a supply of Mandrake Drought produced in a few months and reverse the petrification as soon as it is made."

"But their schooling—"

"Once they are awakened, we will take care of everything. If I must teach them myself, Molly, I will take the time to do so."

"T-that isn't… I mean… this isn't your fault…"

"Whether these incidents were preventable is up for debate, but in the end the responsibility to protect this school falls to me. Molly, I have not lived up to the expectations I have cultivated, for better or worse, and for that I am sorry. For now, I must continue my research into the cause of these attacks. Arthur, Molly, if you have any questions regarding the health of your children, do not hesitate to Floo my office. In this respect, I am at your service."

Arthur and Molly looked to each other, all at once flattered and somewhat shocked to be dismissed like schoolchildren. "Y-yes, well," Arthur said, "we'll be going. I… that is, kids, be safe and write us."

"Yes," Molly said, "write often. And don't walk around on your own! Please…"

The tears began welling up in her eyes again. Ron walked over to place a hand on her shoulder next to his father and she began crying into him instead. Ron gave a pointed look at Hermione and they both flushed a little at the déjà vu. Arthur led her up and out through the Floo and the kids remaining sat next to each other, still shell-shocked. Percy took the chance to excuse himself, grumbling half-heartedly about Prefect duties. Dumbledore's gaze crossed all of them and he cleared his throat.

"I am sorry to dismiss you so suddenly, but if that is all, I really must—"

"Professor Dumbledore?"

He paused. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"What about Harry? How is he… I mean…"

"Ah, thank you for reminding me Miss Granger. If you don't mind?"

Hermione looked a little embarrassed as she pried his fingers from her head and squeezed them in hers. She led him slowly to Dumbledore's desk, where the Headmaster—ahem, Assistant Headmaster—lightly placed his fingers on Harry's head and tilted his face to meet his own. He stared deeply into Harry's eyes for a few pregnant moments before a look of frustration passed his face and he looked away, withdrawing his wand instead. He muttered a few incantations and Harry glowed blue, then orange, then white. Hushed mumblings of "curious, curious…" set the other children in the room on the edge of their seats.

"Professor?"

"Just a moment, Miss Granger."

She looked like she wanted to say more, but remained silent as Dumbledore waved his wand over Harry in fluid, arcing motions, then tapped his head. Dumbledore leaned in closer and sighed.

"This is... perturbing."

The kids sat in silence and looked at him, waiting.

"The magical tests all seem to indicate that Mister Potter's condition is improving, but his mind seems as blank as ever."

"Professor," Hermione interjected, "I've done some research and I think Harry may be suffering from a Muggle condition as well as whatever is affecting him magically, whatever that is, though I'm not sure anyone knows and… and—"

"Take your time, Miss Granger."

She blushed and took a deep breath, recomposing herself. "Yes, sorry. As I was saying, I think there may be something wrong with Harry that isn't just magical. His mind might be recovering biologically as well, but I can't confirm my theory if I can't find the outlet!"

Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow. Hermione took a breath and continued. "The outlet is what should be keeping Harry anchored to this world in spite of his condition. He should have some kind of escape where he emerges from his condition, even if only briefly, and is able to act and think at least somewhat normally. I can't find any proof of this at all though! It's… it's…"

"Maddening?"

"Yes! Maddening. Thank you, Professor," Hermione said.

"I woke up and found him in the loo once. Does that count?"

Hermione sighed. "We went over this Ronald, he's been taking care of bodily functions since he was staying at the Dursleys. I think they were too terrified to touch him anymore, honestly."

Ginny seemed to snap out of her trance at this. "What do you mean 'anymore'?"

"I—I misspoke. Sorry Ginny."

Ginny, who had been silent until then, looked unconvinced, as did Professor Dumbledore, but neither questioned further.

"Will he recover then Professor?" Ginny asked. "Tell us!"

"Show some respect, Ginny!"

"Sod off, _Ronald_."

Dumbledore shook his head and chuckled. "Now, now, no need to fight. Mister Potter is showing all the signs of physical and magical recovery, but his mental recovery seems to be stunted. Only time will tell us whether he will ever regain full cognizance."

Dumbledore stood. "Now, I know you must have many questions, but these attacks will likely not stop themselves. If anything changes regarding Mister Potter's status, contact Professor McGonagall and she will inform me herself. Students," he said, gesturing toward the door.

"Thank you, Professor. But if I may ask one last question?"

The rest of the room turned to Neville. He had been silent to this point as well.

He took a deep breath. Is what happened to Harry the same as," he paused, briefly glancing at the others in the room, "what happened to… Frank and Alice?"

"An insightful question, Mister Longbottom," Dumbledore said, "and one I have considered myself. It is not the same. The likelihood of recovery is much higher in his case, I would say."

Neville's face falling in disappointment did not escape the other students in the room. "I figured. Thanks, Professor. We'll get going."

"Indeed. It would not do for you to be out too long past curfew," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling, "and I know how careful you all are about adhering to curfew."

They nodded sheepishly and exited, Ginny leading Harry with her.

.

* * *

.

When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, the three cognizant second years stepped through the portrait, looking back to Ginny. She stopped, still grasping Harry's forearm. "Is it all right if I meet you all in a bit? I… need to show Harry something."

"Ginny," Ron said, a row already brewing, "it's already past curfew. Besides, I dunno if we should leave you alone with Harry considering."

Her eyes went wide, almost frantically. "C-considering what?"

"That you'd probably snog him even if he's not bloody responding the first chance you got."

"O-oh," Ginny replied, then realized what he'd said and flushed crimson. "Stop it, you great big prat! I-I wouldn't!"

"Really? Not even a bit?" Ron asked, raising his eyebrows in a mock suggestive manner.

Thankfully, Hermione interrupted before this situation could get even weirder. "Honestly Ronald, leave her alone. Ginny, you really should come in, you know how unsafe it is to be out on your own. Besides, you look exhausted. It's been a tough day, you should rest."

Ginny looked to Neville for help, but found nothing but a slight smile and a shake of his head. She sighed and grumbled, leaving Harry and marching past them to the girls' dorms. Neville stepped down and took him instead. Ron and Hermione looked to make for bed, but Neville raised a hand and beckoned them to the empty table where they'd left their books.

"Things have changed," Neville began. "We've got to be more careful now. Way more careful. Malfoy's git of a father is Headmaster and if he's like every other Slytherin, he'll be lenient on those out to get Harry. I know all of us have taken at least one detention hexing the pants off some snake who thought they could go after him while he's like this. We might have to do it again."

Ron and Hermione looked to each other, then to Neville and nodded. "Furthermore, someone is attacking students and they're after Muggleborns—" he glanced at Hermione, "—and so-called blood traitors, which makes all of us possibles. We're going to have to take turns with map duty again. This person is ruthless, violent, and worst of all, they're someone we probably know."

Ron gasped. "How is that possible?"

"It's simple. The map hasn't shown any unusual names. I double-checked and they're all Hogwarts students or staff."

"That's not right," Hermione interjected. "We have and you told us not to worry about it, remember? What was that about?"

"Yeah," Neville said. "I checked that. It was a former student, a dead one at that. He was killed years ago by Sirius Black after he betrayed Harry's parents. The map flashes his name sometimes, but I've tracked down the dot and no one is ever there. The people who made the map were pranksters, I'm sure it's some kind of joke on people who use the map."

"If you say so…"

"Besides, we haven't seen his dot yet this year. It can't be him. It has to be someone else."

"I know this might sound crazy," Ron began, "but what about Professor Lockhart?"

Neville was obviously skeptical. "Professor Lockhart? Really?"

"Yeah—and don't look at me like that, I'm serious! I overheard Snape—"

"_Professor_ Snape, Ronald."

"—talking," he continued, ignoring Hermione, "to the Headmaster about Professor Lockhart looking suspicious, disappearing at odd times and acting strangely. It could be him!"

"Do you really think Lockhart is the Heir of Slytherin?"

Ronald tried to digest this, but didn't have a good response. Lockhart really didn't look like he belonged in Slytherin. He started getting frustrated and tensed, his brow furrowing. "Well, I haven't heard any better ideas!"

"Hey, Ron, relax, same team here," Neville assuaged. "I'm just pointing out the facts. We won't get anywhere by fighting each other. All we can do is watch and wait. Here's what we'll do."

Neville paused and withdrew three pieces of parchment, tapping the bottom two with his wand as he placed them on the table and beginning to write with his quill. The bottom two pages reflected the writing on the top one, like carbon paper. "If we're not in class, someone has to be watching the Map. We also have to double up on Harry duty, at least two people with him," he said, then smiled weakly. "No more Ginny alone with Harry."

"Thank Merlin."

"_Ron_."

"Hysterical. Really, you two, can we focus?"

They at least had the temerity to pretend to be embarrassed.

"We should keep an eye on a few suspects for the Heir in particular. Who do we think it could be?"

"Wait!" Hermione cried, "What about Malfoy?"

Neville rolled his eyes. "I don't think Draco is really capable of—"

"Not Draco Malfoy. What about _Lucius _Malfoy? He wasn't here tonight, but what if that was just to establish an alibi? I read that he got out of an Azkaban sentence by claiming the Imperius Curse was used on him, but what if he used the Imperius on someone else and made them petrify Mrs. Norris and the twins?"

"…and then use the Board of Governors to get him into the castle right under everyone's noses, and steal the Headmaster position at that. Hermione, you're a genius!"

She chose that moment to find the wood in the table quite interesting. "Thanks, Ron. What do you think, Neville?"

Neville tapped his fingers against the table aimlessly, pondering. "It's a thought. A damn good one at that, excellent work Hermione. What's he doing right now, Ron?"

Ron pulled the map from his robes and placed it on the table, reciting the password, and scanned it for the name in question. "There! He's there, I guess that's his office now…"

At that, Neville started chuckling uncontrollably, clutching his sides. The others stared at him, then each other, trying to figure out what just happened.

"Mate, are you all right?"

"It… it's fine," he managed, taking a few breaths to recollect himself, "just remembered something funny. Don't worry about it."

Neville's sense of humor hadn't evaporated from the heat of stress. No, it was the realization that Malfoy's new office was the room Harry had kept Theodore Nott locked in for nearly a month. A snake pen indeed!

Harry's lips lightly twitched. He saw it, too.

"It's been a long day, mate. I think you've cracked. C'mon, let's get some rest. We've got work to do."

"You haven't even done your DADA homework yet, have you Ronald?"

"Bedtime, 'Mione, Lockhart will bloody well keep."

"Fine," she huffed, but only half-heartedly. She liked the nickname. "Just don't expect my help… Ron."

"Hey!"

Harry blinked, then closed his eyes.


	15. Chapter 4: The Beginning of the End 2

**A/N: Part Three will be released in a day or two.**

Chapter 4

**Year Two: The End of the Beginning, Part Two**

Harry blinked, then opened his eyes.

"Un-bloody-believable!"

"Language, Ro—"

"I don't bloody care! This is absurd! Malfoy's as bad as his kid, that slimy—"

They were all hushed in short order by Madam Pince, who gave them the lecture of a lifetime on observing library etiquette and how rude they were and how all their library privileges were going to be revoked and yip yip yip yip. Neville buried his head in his hands. Actually, so did Harry. Hermione had explained that he copies motions, but this was all Harry. He hated dogs.

You'd hate dogs too if your only dog experience was Ripper.

"—so watch your mouths and keep quiet!"

"Yes, Madam Pince," the three droned quietly. They just wanted her to shut up. She walked away and they all glared disparagingly at her disappearing figure.

"If you children are done," Neville said, "we don't have long in the library thanks to our wonderful Headmaster."

.

* * *

.

It had been a month since Lucius Malfoy was made interim Headmaster of Hogwarts and, true to his word, he had stepped up security to new heights. Students were no longer allowed to walk the halls freely. Instead, during the day they had to stay with their House class at all times and at night they were not allowed to leave the Common Room without a Prefect, even for supper. All students had to eat at the same time and with a time limit much to the chagrin of Professor Dumbledore, who encouraged student independence—sometimes at the cost of school order.

Headmaster Malfoy, though only at Hogwarts personally on occasion, had also written several edicts regarding what he termed student safety. The scheduling for Prefect assignments was left up to the discretion of the new position of Lead Prefect, Marcus Flint, and his adviser—Professor Snape, as you might have guessed.

Somehow, the Gryffindor Prefects found themselves run ragged by calls to escort students all over the school. Go figure.

Malfoy didn't dare touch Quidditch directly, but practice schedules were left up to confirmation by the Lead Prefect and his adviser. Somehow, the Gryffindor team found themselves with significantly fewer practices than Slytherin, or any other team for that matter. Go figure.

His most drastic step was the introduction of random searches of students, either by the Headmaster himself or by Prefects. The searches were purely discretionary, but encouraged. Ginny Weasley in particular rapidly grew frustrated with the near-daily inspection of her belongings, often by the Headmaster himself. Somehow, the Gryffindor students found themselves being searched far more than their counterparts in other houses.

Go bloody figure.

Dumbledore did his best to ameliorate the effects of the edicts Malfoy handed down, but was usually busy trying to discover the source of the attacks. To the credit of the new Headmaster, in the month since Fred and George were sent to the Hospital Wing, no one had been attacked. Some were even beginning to grumble about the rules being useless and speculate that the Heir had been scared off already.

.

* * *

.

Hermione sighed. "I guess some of these rules are rather draconian. Still, they are for our best—and what is so funny, Neville?"

"The rules made by Draco's father are rather what?"

"I said they are—oh, that is not funny," she said, not even bothering to hide her grin.

"Do I even want to know?" Ron said, idly flipping through a DADA library book. Whenever their notes from Professor Lockhart were exhausted, he told them to "figure it out on their own—you're students, not parrots", so the only remaining Defense books were reference copies that couldn't be taken from the library. This left them no choice but to congregate in the library rather than in the Common Room.

"Probably not, Ronald," Hermione said dismissively, "besides, you're too busy to get any jokes."

"I know," he moaned. "I know you said you wouldn't help, but…"

"Ron!"

"Please?"

She sighed and gave in to his well-practiced puppy dog look. "Fine. We'll head back to the Common Room," she said, then paused. "Wait, we can't. Two-person rule with Harry."

"Not quite," Neville said. "Percy would to come back for me anyway because of the new rules. That makes two of us."

"Oh, right," Hermione said, looking a bit embarrassed to have overlooked something that obvious. "Well, let's go find your brother Ron. He should be around here somewhere and I—"

She stopped.

Everyone at the table stopped.

Harry had _lunged_.

"H-H-Harry?"

He had grasped the arm of her robes violently. A low whine sounded from his throat, like a dog unable to get out the door. Hermione stared at him like he had just grown a second head.

"W-what is it Harry? Can you hear me? What is it?"

Harry let out a second, similar whine. He did nothing but hold her robes for a few moments as his face twisted in frustration. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he slackened his hold on her arm. He turned her to face him and poked his face directly into hers, noses touching. Her face was practically on fire as his green eyes, dull and dim for so long, bored into hers with burning intensity.

After several moments of this, he drew his head back slightly. Then he did something _weird_.

He took his glasses off and put them on Hermione's face.

"What in Merlin's name," Ron whispered to Neville, "is he _doing_?"

"Shh. Quiet. Just watch."

Hermione reached up to adjust the frames and sighed. "Harry, I can't see in your glasses. The prescription is… goodness, you must be half-blind. I'm taking these off n—"

Another low whine. He slapped her hand away from her face with force, causing her to cry out in pain. She looked at Neville and Ron incredulously, but they just looked at each other and shrugged. Harry's hands now lingered on the sides of her head, holding the glasses in place

"Do I have to leave these on all night?"

Harry's hands stayed.

"…all week?"

Harry's hands stayed.

"You can't be telling me to keep these on all month!"

Harry's hands stayed.

"How about I just leave these on until you take them back?"

Harry's hands left.

Hermione sighed. "If I wasn't so excited to see you making such progress, I wouldn't be doing this you know. Come on Ron, we need to get Percy. I'm going to get a headache because of these things if I don't get to bed soon. Harry… do you want to come?"

Harry sat down with Neville.

"All right then. Now where is Percy?"

"He's on the other side of that shelf Hermione, c'mon," Ron said. "I seriously need you on this one. Why on earth are we learning Transfiguration in DADA anyway? Professor Lockhart is mad."

Walking away, Hermione retorted, "You heard him, the only shields that block Unforgivable Curses are physical shields, because of the theory first described…"

Neville shook his head ruefully, chuckling at Ron's expense. He then looked across the library table at Harry. "You in there, Harry?"

Harry was wand-tapping the desk again.

"Well," Neville said, sighing, "it's progress. I better tell McGonagall tomorrow in class. We'll head back in about an hour, I think."

Mister Longbottom didn't realize that he and his companion would be leaving the room in exactly seventeen minutes and thirty-two seconds. The first sixteen minutes and fifty-one seconds passed by uneventfully, but the entire situation turned upside down when the booming voice of Albus Dumbledore filled the library—and indeed the entire castle.

"Students, please remain where you are and do not panic. There has been another attack. If you find yourself in a hallway at this moment, make haste to the nearest classroom or Professor's quarters and take refuge there. Again, do not stray from your current location until you are escorted by a professor. The staff of Hogwarts is still working to secure the castle. Students, keep safe."

Neville looked at Harry and asked a question, not expecting a response. "You don't think…"

He scrambled to open the Marauder's Map. The moment he saw the dot marked Hermione Granger in the Hospital Wing he stuffed the map in his robes, grabbed his things (and Harry's hand) and dashed for the exit of the library. A Slytherin prefect standing near the door yelled at him as he opened it.

"Are you deaf or just stupid? You heard Dumbledore, the—"

"I don't care," snapped Neville, not pausing as he moved out into the corridor. "If you want to stop us, you'll have to chase us out here!"

Through the slammed door, a muffled, "like hell" could barely be heard and Neville smirked. Dragging Harry behind him, he sprinted toward the Hospital Wing. He didn't notice—or didn't remember—that Harry had not been able to run before now, or that his strides were equally as determined and coordinated as his own, or that he had grabbed his bag on the way out.

He would notice soon.

They skidded around corners and rushed up stairs, finally showing up to the Hospital Wing. Locked.

"Bugger, I was never as good at this as—"

Click-click, went the lock.

Neville looked back. Harry had his wand out, pointing toward the door. He spared a moment to gawk in amazement, then whirled and shoved open the door. With a BANG!, the door crashed against the wall and they were greeted by Madam Pomfrey. Seeing Hermione, Neville rushed to her side.

"Madam Pomfrey! Is she all right?"

She was in no mood to answer questions. "What in Merlin's name are you _doing_ here? Did you not hear the Headmaster? Of course you did," she shrieked, "but you didn't listen, did you? You—"

"Petrified, isn't she?"

His calm voice settled her for a moment. "Yes."

"She was with two others. Where are they?"

.

* * *

.

Lucius Malfoy was not having a good day.

It was bad enough he had to deal with his gibbering House Elf and nagging wife (who didn't do bloody anything of use but stand around and look pretty, he would add), but another petrification had taken place and he had not been informed until the rest of the castle was—by his subordinate, no less. This wasn't even supposed to be happening. If the idiot Weasley girl hadn't lost the diary, he could have seized it long ago, stopped the attacks, and eventually had Dumbledore fired.

Yes, Lucius Malfoy was not having a good day.

It was about to get much worse.

He stood from his desk and grabbed a pinch of Floo powder from an urn that sat on top of it. As if he would walk the halls with a basilisk loose. How the great Albus Dumbledore had been unable to come to such a simple conclusion was beyond him. The monster of Slytherin could be nothing but a snake, and the basilisk was king of all snakes.

Throwing the powder into the fireplace and grumbling to himself all the while, he was outraged and confused when he emerged in the Leaky Cauldron. Had he stopped grumbling long enough, he would not have bolloxed the pronunciation now would he? Ignoring Tom's cries of protest that he had not paid for the powder, Lucius threw it in and this time managed to emerge in Dumbledore's office.

"Dumbledore," he said, voice calm but full of venom. "I hope you have an explanation for terrifying the entire school without so much as a word to its Headmaster?"

"I am not in the mood for these games, Lucius."

He flinched. He hadn't expected Dumbledore to be so... vehement. "This is not a game, Dumbledore. Students are at risk—"

"Indeed they are," he interrupted, "which is why I expect you to show yourself out of my office. Immediately."

"Have you forgotten your place so soon? You have no authority over me. I rule Hogwarts, not you and your band of misfits. Your status as Headmaster—"

"Is once again valid."

He narrowed his eyes. "The Board has said nothing of this."

Dumbledore slammed the original letter on the table. "This," he said, voice steely and ungiving, "is the original missive. It states in the event of a worsening situation at Hogwarts, these terms are to be revoked and as you know, there has been another attack."

"As there was under your so-called leadership. I think it is you who is playing games, Dumbledore. You have no standing here and you know it, unless more than two students were petrified in this incident."

"One student was petrified—"

"As I said—"

Dumbledore's voice rose to a roar. "—and two were _killed_, Lucius! Two students are dead! This is a worsening situation, Lucius, and there is no time for your posturing! If you are not fit to see yourself out, I will have the castle do so for me!"

Lucius backed away, stunned. His eyes flickered with the beginnings of a response, but the expression on Dumbledore's face stifled that in an instant. He chose that moment to cut his losses and departed for, "Malfoy Manor!"

Dumbledore sighed as the Floo lit up with an incoming call as soon as Lucius left. He erected a seamless iron partition around his fireplace. He couldn't deal with them again. Not now, not so soon.

.

* * *

.

"You're lying! Where are they! Where…"

Neville froze as he saw the beds. Two beds, holding lumps covered by sheets. He made a mad dash for them.

"No! Mister Longbottom, do not—"

Madam Pomfrey's voice died as he whipped back the larger of the two sheets and looked into the dead eyes of Percy Weasley.

"No. This isn't…"

"Mister Longbottom, please," Madam Pomfrey began, but her plea went unheeded as he recoiled and desperately threw back the second sheet, as if it would not be concealing exactly what he knew it was.

"_Ron…_"

Madam Pomfrey opened her mouth to chastise him once more, but stopped when she heard the pain in his voice. His hands were nearly tearing holes in the sheet with the pressure he was squeezing it with. His face twisted and he did something he had never done around anyone but his parents or, more recently, Harry.

He wept.

He wept, violently.

Anyone who says silent tears can't be more anguish-inducing than loud tears is a boldfaced liar.

Madam Pomfrey moved to touch him, but he threw her off him with force and began talking to the corpse in front of him. Asking him half-heartedly to stop kidding and play a game of chess, or finish his Lockhart homework, or yell at his sister. He didn't expect a response, but he would've felt worse if he didn't try. He didn't turn as he addressed the woman behind him.

"Why are they dead? Why are they dead and she isn't? Why, Madam Pomfrey? What happened?"

"I don't know."

Silence consumed the room. Painful, poignant, pregnant silence.

Someone had to break it.

"Sorry I couldn't do any better, Hermione."

Neville turned, bleary-eyed, to face the voice and saw Madam Pomfrey doing the same, a look of shock on her face.

"I was a little muddled at the time, but I did my best. You'll have to forgive me after I take care of this whole mess."

A million emotions played across his face. "You're going to help me burn that picture Ginny drew, too."

"It can't be," Neville said. "Harry?"

The raven-haired boy took his glasses from the petrified girl's face and placed them on his own. He turned and looked him dead in the eye.

"Hey, Neville."

"Mister Potter! What is the meaning of—"

"_Stupefy!_"

Before she could even think to be surprised, Madam Pomfrey collapsed to the ground in a heap as the red light struck her in the chest. He walked over to her still body.

"_Obliviate!_"

With that, Harry slid his wand back into his robe pocket and turned to his disbelieving friend.

"I've got to go."

"Go? Where—"

"I have to go to the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny is down there. She probably won't survive, but I have to try."

That was a lie.

Harry had a much more important reason to go to the Chamber of Secrets than risking his life for a first-year that allowed herself to be possessed by a talking diary.

"I'm going with you."

Harry smiled gently. "You can't."

"No," Neville said. "I refuse to accept that answer. I'm not leaving you alone again, not after last time!"

"Neville, really, it's not an option," Harry said. "To get into the Chamber you have to be a Parselmouth. Unless you've been holding out on me…"

That was a lie. He had no idea if you had to actually know it to get in once it was open.

Neville bit his tongue with frustration.

"I figured," Harry said. "Don't worry, I'll be back this time. I swear it."

"But—"

"Stay here with Pomfrey and Hermione. Don't let anyone but the Headmaster or McGonagall in."

Neville opened his mouth to protest again, but clicked it shut just as quickly. He nodded. "Will do. Good luck, Harry."

Harry grinned. "I don't need luck."

He turned to walk out the door, then hissed in pain and clutched his forehead.

"Harry?"

"I'm fine! I'll be getting rid of this headache in a sec, just an aftereffect of… you know."

As soon as he exited the room, the grin disappeared. Who was he kidding? Longbottom for sure, but he wasn't self-delusional. He was fucking terrified.

"There's a god damn basilisk and a Piece down there possessing an eleven year old girl. No Harry, what could possibly go wrong if you go alone?"

But he had to and he knew it.

"I don't even know where the damn thing is. _Who watches this hall?_"

The last was in Parselmouth. A snake slithered out of a crack in the wall. Man, this had been a good idea.

"_Hello Speaker,"_ said the snake, a rather large variety of garter. _"I watch this hall. What is it you require?"_

"_I need to find the Chamber of Secrets. Can you take me to it?"_

"_Of course. You told us to know where it is a cycle ago, when you were the Other."_

"_Really? Good on me, then. Take me there."_

Harry followed the snake unabated in the empty halls until she led him to the second floor bathroom. The snake slithered onto one of the sinks.

"_It is here, Speaker. You must command the snake to open and it will let you pass."_

"_That's it? No riddles or anything? Wait, there is one, he's… ah, forget it. Thanks, you can get back to your post now."_

"_As you wish."_

The snake receded and Harry leaned toward the sink. _"Open."_

The password spoken, the Chamber of Secrets was revealed. Harry stared down the seemingly neverending abyss and swallowed. He removed his Invisibility Cloak from his bag, threw it over himself, and said the three words he wished he'd never have to.

"Here goes nothing!"

The greeting he received at the bottom was painful on his arse, but Harry was relieved to see that no one was waiting for him at the bottom. Ensuring that the cloak covered his entire body, he crept deeper and deeper into the decidedly creepy Chamber.

"I can feel it," he whispered to himself. "I can hear it, too. It's humming to me. The Piece is here. Bugger, this headache is killing me! But it's so close."

Slipping into a large, open area, he finally saw what he was looking for, plus a few unwelcome additions. Lying next to the diary was the unmoving body of Ginny Weasley. Standing next to the diary was the semi-corporeal image of a boy he didn't recognize.

'Twenty bucks says that's Riddle. There's only one way to find out and I'm not going to like it.

Harry swallowed deeply again and considering turning back one more time, but the roaring headache that was interfering with the synapses and such in his big mammal brain kept his feet stuck to the ground. He looked at the diary carefully. For those with eyes to see and ears to hear, the book was overflowing with magical energy and hummed vibrantly with the excess that poured out of it. It stood out like a light in an infinite darkness. He was at once amazed and grateful that no one else had noticed it yet. Then, a whisper.

"_Accio Riddle's diary._"

The glowing object struck his fingers and for a single agonizing moment he felt the excess rush through his fingertips, up his arms and spine, and thrust itself into his forehead. Harry grit his teeth to stop from crying out, but as soon as the pain entered him it was gone again. The diary and Harry's eyes both flashed the same ethereal color and the diary's glow faded. Harry's eyes retained their bright, emerald-green shine.

The apparition-like figure reacted in that instant, but it was an instant too late. He thrust his wand in Harry's direction. "_Accio diary!_"

The diary flew out of Harry's hands, the momentum carrying him forward and thudding him against the ground. He hit the ground awkwardly, causing his cloak to shift and exposing his left arm, right leg, and the tips of his right fingers. Harry looked up across the room and saw the ghost approaching him, wand in hand, diary skidding across the floor back to where it had been sitting.

"Show yourself, coward."

Harry paused, but figured it was too late for stealth at this point. He pulled the cloak off himself, stuffing it quickly into a pocket and drew his own wand.

"What did you _do?_"

Harry groaned and the boy stopped moving closer thirty feet short as Harry's forehead suddenly released a noise that was the magical equivalent of someone popping their neck. Even Riddle's face showed a hint of genuine disgust as Harry rubbed and pushed lightly on his head with his left hand, keeping his right and wand pointed at the ghost-boy. More wincing as the noise continued, then it finally stopped when Harry quit massaging his temples.

"Answer the question. What did you do to me?"

Harry scowled. "Give me a second, all right? I had a bloody killer headache until now."

There was a stilted silence. "Quit stalling. Answer me or the girl gets it."

"Merlin, I said give me a second! _You _try sorting through a year's memories and tell me how you like it. Most of them are just," Harry said, moaning lightly, "intentions and not flashbacks anyway. Only thing I could remember was what I needed to do to stopper that bloody headache."

Surprisingly, Riddle did not interrupt again. Harry didn't know that the diary had to do the same thing with sixteen years of information when he was "born", or created, or whatever.

A minute and a half of Harry muttering and Riddle looking murderous for the length of the delay later, there was one last grotesque popping noise and Harry shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs.

"Oh," Harry said, "_oh _that's much better. All right. Oh, that does make sense."

Riddle's wandtip started glowing green and his voice was cold as ice. "What did you do to me?"

Harry waved his free hand placatingly. "Slow your roll mate, I'm getting to that. Tell you what, I tell you how I ended up here and you return the favor. Sound fair to you?"

How he restrained himself from killing Harry right then and there is a mystery modern scholars will forever debate.

"Fine. Now start talking."

"Great! I never get to tell this part. It's still a right bit fuzzy, but here's the score: you're a Piece."

Riddle raised his eyebrows questioningly, but said nothing.

"Right. Anyway, when Voldemort knocked the Piece out of my head last year, it screwed up my mind something fierce. I've apparently been living with that thing in my head all my life, so having it ripped out violently in the middle of my magical development turned me into a spaz," Harry said, then he smiled wanly. "I've been waiting all year for you to get enough overflow for me to fill the giant hole in my head with. Took you bloody long enough."

Harry then noticed the somewhat tense, tired look on Riddle's face. "Judging by your expression, it almost looks like… oh man," Harry said, trying—and failing—not to chuckle, "you were _high_ on the excess magic, weren't you? You just got knocked on your arse cold turkey! Oh… sorry about that."

Riddle glared, but his silence and the bags rapidly forming under his eyes belied the truth.

"Anyway, I obviously wasn't strong enough to rip the magic straight out of the diary, so I…" Harry said, brow furrowed in concentration as he sifted through the last year, "I guess I had to make sure you accumulated a huge amount from many sources so that I could strip the overflow. Once you had enough that it was easier to pry out, I took it."

Harry paused, recalling something else. "Plus, the stronger you got, the more my mind could repair itself. Something about the energy Pieces have resonate with each other. So really, if it weren't for you, I would still be… well, let's not think about such unpleasant things."

"The girl," Riddle spat sparing an angry glare for Ginny, "said you couldn't even walk around by yourself. How did you switch the diary?"

"Ah," Harry said, smiling genuinely for the first time since his awakening, "that was the first smart thing I've done since I got to Hogwarts. _You aren't the only Speaker here, Riddle_."

Riddle grimaced. _"Parselmouth."_

"_Right in one,"_ Harry said. "I prefer English though, don't you?" Riddle scowled at him. "Right, probably not. During first year I had snakes patrolling the halls, not that it did me any good when that turban-headed bastard snuck up on me. This year they moved the diary around for me, not that I can remember when I told them to…"

Harry paused as he was struck with a revelation and the last set of memories hit him. "The outlet, of course. Hermione was right," he said, then snorted. "Of course she was, she's always—"

"Enough!"

Harry stopped. He had been mumbling again. Maybe he was insane now.

"I have my answers. And now you will die. _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!_"

"But you haven't told me your—"

"I never intended to, idiot boy!" Riddle snapped as the Chamber began to rumble with the noise of the approaching serpent. "All I needed was your information. Now that I have what I need, I will let the basilisk—"

"_Yes, great serpent, kill the imposter!"_

Riddle scowled at Harry. _"Foolish boy, I am the Heir! The snake only heeds my—"_

"_Do not fall for his trickery! Sense for yourself, the one who speaks to you is not a person, but an illusion, trying to trick you!"_

"_Ignore his words! Kill the boy!"_

The rumbling slowed as the basilisk stopped in confusion.

"_Taste the air! There is only one living with the presence of the Heir within! He is a threat to Hogwarts and must be killed."_

A third, foreign hiss filled the hall. _"You both speak truth. The taint of the Heir touches you both, but neither is the true descendant of Slytherin."_

"_Do not let him trick you, Salazar's pet! He is an imposter, only marked—"_

"_He is but an item, created to mimic—"_

"_ENOUGH."_

They both quieted at the frightening tone the basilisk spoke in. _"Neither of you is the Heir. I answer only to the Heir. I will not fight for you any further, artifact, nor for you, newcomer."_

The rumbling picked up, then ceased as the basilisk retreated deeper into the Chamber of Secrets. Riddle fired a Bone-Breaker Curse at Harry, who yelped as he dove out of the way.

"You cost me my pet, you insolent brat!"

'Ah hell,' Harry thought, 'that might have been a bad idea.'

"Did you really think you could forestall your death?" Riddle yelled, launching a Reductor Curse at the pillar Harry was hiding behind, showering the room with stone shards. "I am the most powerful wizard of my age! I am Lord Voldemort! You will kneel before me or you will die!"

Harry poked his head out from behind the smoking pile of what used to be an intact stone column. "Will you at least stick up to your end of the deal and tell me how you got here?"

"Fine!" Riddle spat, nearly taking Harry's head off with a Cutting Curse before he slipped behind another column. "The diary was in the possession of Lucius Malfoy for the last ten years and he slipped it into the school supplies of Ginny Weasley. Happy now?"

"Very! _Stupefy_!" Harry yelled, "And I'm going to kill that sodding arse once I'm—oh, come on!"

Harry dodged a purple curse he didn't recognize and groaned. The red light had gone right through Riddle.

Riddle forced a high, guttural laugh. "Once I finish taking the girl's energy, I will be corporeal, but it won't matter. She will be dead and then I will kill you!"

Harry winced and dashed behind a column much closer to Riddle, which was instantly vaporized by another Reductor Curse. "Don't underestimate her, Riddle. When it comes to Harry Potter, she can be a powerful enough little bint. _Reducto_!"

Riddle laughed again as the spell was a clear miss, but then realized that its actual target was not him, but the diary. He hissed illegibly as the curse hit the diary, but smirked when the dust cleared and it was untouched.

"What the hell, man!"

"You cannot harm me, child!" Riddle gloated, finally hitting Harry with a silent Body-Bind. Harry's wand fell at his feet. Riddle picked it up and smirked, feeling the improved compatibility, and tossed the wand he'd stolen from Ginny aside. "This is the end for you. Soon I will become whole and rise again, with no Boy-Who-Lived to stand in my way."

The tip of his wand glowed sickly green as he approached Harry. "_Avada Kedavr—_"

Before he could utter the final syllable of the Killing Curse, Riddle's voice caught in his throat. The tip of his wand cooled. "What is this? Another protection? _Avada Kedav—_"

Again, his voice refused to finish the incantation. Riddle's face contorted with rage and frustration. Harry surged his magic and broke the Body-Bind, scrambling for Ginny's dropped wand, but Riddle's reflexes were top notch.

"_Stupefy! Avada Keda—_ghrkk," he choked out, voice betraying him again. "My magic is weakening? What is the meaning of this—"

"**You will not touch him, Tom.**"

The ghostly young man actually fell on his ghostly young arse in shock. Behind him, holding the wand he had thrown carelessly to the ground, was little Ginny Weasley.

And she was mad.

In more ways than one.

"You! But you…!"

Her voice was a wavering and—let's just be honest, creepy—echo.

"**Did you think the flow could not be reversed? You're playing on my home pitch, Tom.**"

"The Chamber is home only to the Heir!"

"**Not the Chamber. My soul. And it is **_**mine**_**, not yours.**"

Riddle felt himself slowly being dragged toward her by an inexorable pull. "What are you doing to me?"

"**Only what you would do to me, Tom.**"

"Stop! No! _Slytherin's beast, save the Heir!_"

No one was listening.

"**I'm going to eat you.**"

As it turns out, ghosts can blanch with fear.

Tom grasped at a handhold, but his incorporeal fingers passed right through it as his spirit, fallen face down on the ground, was sucked toward the kneeling girl whose brown eyes were glowing with the wave of magic that was pouring into her.

"**Come to me.**"

With that, his spirit dissolved into white mist and flowed into her chest, causing it to pulse white as the magic flooded into her body. When it was all over, she grimaced as her magic let out the equivalent of a belch and sighed.

**Horcrux Count: 2/7**

"Oh, my..."

You tell 'em.

"Harry!"

She rushed to where he laid, unmoving. He was still breathing and the Stunner had worn off once Riddle died, but his eyes were closed and he wasn't responding. She leaned over his body and shook him lightly.

"H-Harry? Are you okay?"

Ginny started to panic when he didn't respond. She wracked her mind, thinking. What do you do in a situation like this? What do you do when your hero saves you and is lying on the ground, unable to respond? She remembered the answer and flushed with embarrassment.

But she did it anyway.

Harry groaned and blinked slowly, fluttering his eyelids to clear the dust. "Thanks, Ginny," he said, then his face froze in horror. 'Didn't she draw literally this exact… oh _God._"

She giggled. "You're welcome, Harry. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah," he said, sighing, "just a little sore from getting my arse kicked. Can we get out of this place already? An hour down here and I feel like I'm in hell."

She stood and extended a hand to help him up, but when the diary caught her eye she recoiled like she'd been punched in the gut and slumped to the ground, sobbing.

"Ginny? Ginny! What's the matter? What happened?"

This would be happening a lot. Absorbing a fragment of the soul of the most evil man alive would have its side effects. Like this, and... well, let's leave that as a surprise.

She kept crying. Harry rushed to her side and knelt down in an eerie reversal of just a few minutes ago. "Ginny, you have to tell me—"

"I _killed _them, Harry," she choked out. "I killed them. Ron, Percy… god, even Hermione. How can you even look at me? I'm a murderer."

"Hermione didn't die, Ginny."

Her eyes widened in surprise, but the tears kept flowing and she continued. "My own brothers, dead! And it's all my fault. Mum and Dad will never forgive me, my brothers will _hate _me, and I can only imagine what you—"

"You're right, I can't forgive you," Harry said, and she broke down even worse. "For Merlin's sake, you were being possessed. I wouldn't blame you if you were under the Imperius and I don't blame you now. I'm sure your family will understand."

She sniffled. "You really think so?"

Harry had no idea. "I know so. Now c'mon, I'm sure they're worried sick about their only daughter."

"H-Harry?"

"Yeah Gin?"

She took a deep breath to steady herself. "What do you do to someone who does to you? What do you do to someone who… who_ abuses_ you?"

Harry looked deep into her eyes and smiled what would, in time, become the comforting, grandfatherly smile that men like Dumbledore were masters of. It was an assuaging and reassuring expression that lulled people into a sense of ease. It was a smile that said everything is going to be fine—that no matter what happened, no matter the catastrophe or horrible turn of events, that _everything is going to be fine_.

"You kill them."


	16. Chapter 5: The Beginning of the End 3

**A/N: At publishing time, Divergence had 80 reviews, 21,866 hits, 12 C2s, 70 Favorites, and 95 Alerts. No idea if that's a lot, but thanks for every single one of them. The story's already done and written in my head, but telling it is a lot of fun too. Hope you enjoy.**

Chapter 5

**Year Two: The End of the Beginning, Part Three**

**29 May 1993**

"Is this really still necessary?"

The lump on Harry's back rumbled lightly with suppressed mirth. "I've never gotten a piggyback ride before."

Harry sighed and stepped past the gargoyle that led to the Headmaster's quarters. It had been left open without a password. Harry guessed it was to allow anyone with news on the missing students to pass unimpeded into the Headmaster's office. His back groaned in protest as he slowly trudged up the stairs, but he figured that a free ride made them even for the whole saving his life thing. Or close enough, so whatever.

Harry knocked on the door to the Headmaster's office and heard a distant voice bid him to "Ente—" before it was cut off by the door being thrown open. He stiffened as he was greeted by the haggard, wide-eyed face of Arthur Weasley. The poor man looked like he'd been through hell. As it turns out, he had. His own, personal hell. Before Harry could react, the lump on his back was violently ripped from him and clutched by Papa Weasley, who was already bawling like a newborn and gibbering incomprehensibly, as was his wife. Ginny didn't object. It had been a long day.

The Headmaster inclined his head slightly toward Harry and smiled a "thank you", to which Harry nodded back and took a seat. He watched the teary family reunion in silence, unable to suppress what he knew was an inappropriate sense of jealousy. After several minutes of tears and reassurances, Arthur shifted the fitfully sleeping body of his only daughter on his shoulder and looked to Harry.

"Thank you, Harry. We can never repay you enough for bringing her back to us."

Harry smiled. Never was a big word, something to stretch the limits of. "You're welcome."

The Weasley parents started and looked at Dumbledore questioningly. He cocked his head almost imperceptibly in what is the closest thing to a shrug anyone will ever get out of Albus Dumbledore. "I suppose that means you've finally returned to us, Harry."

His smile widened. "I suppose so."

The Headmaster's eyes brightened for the first time that day. "Very good! If it would not trouble you too much, may we hear what transpired today when you rescued Miss Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry froze for but a moment. He had forgotten to come up with a good bullshit story. "Sure, Professor, but if you don't mind I'd like to wait until one more person is here. Can you send for Neville Longbottom?"

"Mister Longbottom?" Dumbledore asked. "Is he somehow involved in today's happenings?"

"He needs to hear this," Harry answered without answering. "He will anyway, once I'm done telling you, so I might as well get it out of the way."

"Very well, Harry. It may take some time, however, as Mister Longbottom is currently unaccounted for and Fawkes here has been rather unresp… onsive."

Before he could finish the word, the phoenix disappeared in a flash of magical fire and reappeared a moment later, trilling a happy note that conveniently seemed to convey that Neville was on his way. Magic! Dumbledore, in a rare fit of humanity, was shocked.

"How curious. He was not nearly so enthusiastic when I asked him to find you, Harry. Perhaps there is some protection on the Chamber…"

He trailed off, not caring to elaborate on an alternative explanation. After a few minutes of lame silence and awkward, stilted conversation consisting of questions regarding Harry's state of being which were inevitably given one-word answers, the door to the Headmaster's office finally opened once more, yielding to an out-of-breath Neville.

"Harry, I—"

"Ah, good, Mister Longbottom has arrived. We can begin. Harry, if you would?"

Harry smiled confidently. "Yes, Headmaster. After I woke—"

"Woke, Harry?"

He sighed. Dumbledore's interruptions were already starting to piss him off. Fighting the incorporeal spirit of a dark lord apparently makes people cranky. "Yeah, that's the closest thing I can compare coming out of a year-long conscious coma to. Can I finish?"

"Of course."

"After I woke, I heard someone in the library mention the writing on the wall about a student being taken to the Chamber and I felt like I had to do something," Harry said, not flinching at the obvious look of confusion Neville was showing. "I followed a strange voice to the second floor bathroom, where the entrance to the Chamber is hidden."

Dumbledore could not hide the million questions waiting to burst forth from showing on his face, but Harry soldiered on, imperceptibly weaving truth with lies, before the aged wizard could intervene with natty queries that he didn't want to address.

"After I got into the Chamber, I found Ginny. She was being possessed," Molly gasped, "by the spirit of Voldemort," Molly 'oh my'd', "and she wasn't moving. I fought him for a while and after that… everything gets a little hazy. I suppose I won, since I made it out in one piece."

He hadn't managed to come up with anything good for the last part. Whoops.

Dumbledore was now looking Harry dead in the eyes very carefully and Harry realized that he had almost unnoticeably grasped his wand underneath his desk. His mind ran through the possibilities—that Dumbledore knew he was lying, that Dumbledore thought Riddle was possessing **him** now, that Dumbledore thought he was helping Riddle—and tensed in his chair, hand slowly moving to his own wand. A light twitch and he realized that the Headmaster was attempting to use Legilimency.

"Do you know how he was able to possess Miss Weasley, Harry?"

Harry sighed with relief. Here was his out. "Yeah, this," he said hurriedly, producing the familiar diary from his robe pocket. Neville stared at it wide-eyed with recognition as Harry tossed it frisbee-style to the Headmaster's desk, where it landed unceremoniously. The Headmaster examined it thoroughly, waving his wand over it and focusing in particular on the name inside.

'He must know who Riddle really is, too… which makes sense considering he must have been teaching here at the time. Hogwarts, A History. Thanks Hermione.'

"The book is inert," Dumbledore said, satisfied with his inspection, "but marked with the very clear taint of Dark magic. That there is no physical damage to the book itself is most curious. It must have been incapacitated by some kind of spell. I will have to keep it for further study."

Harry shrugged. "I don't want to be around anything of his anyway. Double that if it's dark magic."

"Headmaster, where were you while this was going on?"

Everyone turned to the new voice. Neville had stood from his chair, a finger pointed at Dumbledore. Another surprisingly human moment: he was so startled that he said nothing. The silence was deafening.

"I guess," Neville said, "I know the answer. Excuse me, sir."

Neville exited the room, his mask of stoicism breaking out with pockmarks of consternation. The Headmaster sighed and stroked his beard absently. Harry got up to follow him.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, "I believe Mister Longbottom is ignorant of many of the details surrounding this incident. I did not know the location of the Chamber of Secrets or of the presence of a Dark artifact in Hogwarts. I do not wish to seem callous to my students, so if by chance the topic comes up, perhaps you could mention this to him."

Harry turned his head to face him. "He doesn't think you're callous, sir. He's upset **because** you didn't know. I should probably go after him… good day, sir."

Dumbledore spent his next hour consoling the forlorn parents who had lost two of their children. He was unsuccessful. There's nothing anyone can say to soothe the pain of a lost child, never mind two.

.

* * *

.

"Thanks for that."

Neville turned around and saw Harry lightly jogging in his direction. "Thanks for what?"

Harry smiled. "Getting all upset and storming out. That was getting really awkward in there, you know?"

A grimace flashed across his face for a moment. "I wasn't pretending."

"That so?" Harry asked. "You want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Then we'll walk and talk," Harry said. "We've got a lot of catching up to do, mate."

"Yeah," Neville said, brightening up significantly, "it's really good to have you back."

Harry grinned wide. "It's good to be back! I've missed a lot. Much less thanks to you, of course. You did a right good job this year, Neville."

"So you remember…?"

Harry shrugged. "It's all there, just really fuzzy. I'm sorting through everything on the go. Going through a whole year's worth of memories all at once is like throwing a year's worth of Binns notes in a random pile and trying to study for the end of year exam the night before. It's a real pain in the arse."

"That's a horrible comparison. You've never even **been** to History of Magic. You got a T in his class last year and you'll get one this year too if your luck holds."

They shared a laugh. "Terribly useless class, that. It almost wasn't worth it the way Hermione kept harassing me about skiving. She's probably the only reason Ron didn't skip with me."

The look on Neville's face told Harry all he needed to know. "It's not too soon, mate. We can't spend our lives walking on eggshells. He wouldn't have wanted that."

"I know," Neville said, eyes downcast, "but that doesn't make it any easier. I can't stop thinking about this afternoon. About what I could have done to save them."

Harry sighed. His strongest supporter was getting a saving people thing. "Mate, Voldemort is a ridiculously powerful wizard. It's entirely unfair. This isn't the first time he's killed someone and it won't be the last. You're going to have to accept that," he said, habitually cracking his fingers. "I know I have. If Dumbledore couldn't figure it out, why the hell should a second year be expected to?"

"But you did figure it out! And you weren't even conscious!" Neville exclaimed. He stopped walking for a moment and took a deep breath, calming himself before he resumed their languid pace. "What was it, anyway?"

"Basilisk. The petrified ones must have seen the eyes through a reflective surface of some kind. Once I started getting some control back, I asked the snakes what was going on and they gave me the heads up."

That was a lie. Harry knew the night of the first attack—not that he could tell anyone.

Neville raised an eyebrow. "The snakes?"

"Yeah, I've got 'em all over the place. _Who watches this corridor?_" Neville jolted with surprise when a seven footer slithered down from behind a tapestry and presented itself to Harry. A bit of back and forth in Parseltongue and the serpent hid itself once more. "Quirrell roasted one of my favorites when it tried to defend me first year. I _really_ hated that turban-headed bastard."

Neville nodded his approval at that.

"I talked the basilisk down in the Chamber. Tom and I both reeked of Voldemort's magic about the same, which confused it I think."

"Tom?"

"That's Voldy's real name," Harry said, noting Neville's borderline incredulous look. "I know, right? It's a mundane name for such a terrible person. As bad as it was for the school, the whole diary thing was what brought me back from Spazland."

Neville let him continue. "The diary and I both had Pieces of something Voldemort made stuck inside us and connected to him. Mine was in the scar," he said, tapping his forehead. "After he kicked my arse in the Mirror Room, he absorbed the Stone. The power flowed through the connection we have and destroyed the Piece of whatever in my head."

"That's why your brain was haywire this year?"

"It's all guesswork," Harry said, shrugging, "but yeah, basically. That thing was tied into my mind pretty good, so when it was killed all the ties were broken. That's why everything got weird. Luckily for me, the diary was partly alive and taking energy from students all year."

That was a lie. It wasn't luck. Harry had placed a subtle compulsion on the diary and had the snakes rotate it between first year girls. That was when he was the "Other", as the snakes called him.

"All the Pieces resonate the same magically, so when the diary built up energy it reacted with the missing Piece in my head when it got close enough. Once the diary hit a certain threshold…"

"It was resonating the same as it was before," Neville reasoned. "That's when you recovered."

"That's what it feels like to me. I have no bloody idea what's been happening to be honest, but I'm explaining it the best I can. When I went down to the Chamber I summoned the diary and stripped all the excess energy from it. Now I don't have to be near the damn thing to think straight."

Harry cracked his fingers again. "I don't know if it's permanent. I can't feel any of it slipping away, but that's no guarantee. It could be a slow process. You have to promise me something, mate. If I start going off the deep end again, don't let them throw me into St. Mungo's, all right?"

"What, you don't want to live with my parents?"

Harry gaped at Neville, then laughed out loud. "You just told a joke. A bloody hilarious joke about his own parents, from Neville Longbottom! I must have missed one hell of a year."

Neville smiled hesitantly. "I guess having you back gave me hope for them too."

.

* * *

.

Frank and Alice Longbottom are permanently fucked in the head. Sometimes dreams don't come true.

.

* * *

.

They continued their walk back to the Gryffindor Room, purposely maintaining a slow pace. Harry abruptly changed the subject.

"Thanks to Quirrell everything got set back a year. We're going to step things up quickly, mate."

Neville looked at him quizzically. "What kind of things are we stepping up?"

"Are you serious?" Harry asked. "You think I'm just going to let snakeface get away with this? He killed Ron, Neville. And Percy, for that matter. Hermione and the twins very well should have been killed and only survived on luck. No, we're going to hit them back. Hard."

"Any ideas?"

"Nothing solid yet, but I'm working on some things. I'm not sure if my connection to Voldemort is still around, but I haven't felt anything recently. If I know anything about him, then he'll be assembling the Death Eaters as soon as he's recovered. Has there been anything suspicious in the news lately? Deaths of prominent opposition, pureblood laws, anything like that?"

Neville shook his head. "A lot of the pressure has been on Dumbledore," he said. His face darkened significantly. "As far as I'm concerned, that's a good thing."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, you know all those titles he has? Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock, Grand Sorcerer…"

"All that rubbish."

"Turns out it's not rubbish. Those aren't titles, Harry, they're _jobs_. He's moonlighting twice over from his job at Hogwarts doing government work. Then besides that there's his personal research, private studies, the constant barrage of letters he gets from the Minister of Magic…"

"I think I get where you're going with this."

"The man is too busy doing all those things to do any of them well," Neville said, practically seething. "If he wasn't so damn concerned with being heading the Wizengamot he might have had the time to kill the basilisk before it killed Ron and Percy!"

"I'm impressed. How do you know all this?"

Neville beamed a bit. "I've been writing my grandmother and asking her about this political tripe, especially since Malfoy started attacking Dumbledore in the papers. Turns out being on the Board of Governors makes you privy to a great deal of sensitive information."

"That's something else, mate," Harry said. "But if that's been the big struggle lately, I doubt Voldemort is involved. This entire thing stinks of Malfoy."

"You think it's been him this whole time?"

"I don't think it, I know it," Harry replied. "Like I said, the diary was partly alive. Tom told me himself that the elder Malfoy brought the diary to the school."

"So Hermione was right," Neville murmured. Then his face flashed with rage. "I'll kill him. I'm going to gut that spineless son of a—"

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed. "Calm down, mate. Don't get bent out of shape."

"Why not! This is the _best _reason to get bent out of shape."

"I already told you," Harry assuaged. "This isn't over. He won't get away from this unscathed. Trust me, vengeance is a dish best served cold."

Neville gave him a queer look. "Muggle phrase?"

"Yeah, yeah, I was raised a Muggle, I know. Get used to it, I'm not going around saying 'Merlin's beard' all the time like you quacks."

Harry grinned. Neville smiled back.

"Yeah, it's _really_ good to have you back."

They had reached the Fat Lady.

"Merlin's beard."

"Neville, I'm not—"

The Fat Lady opened up. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Really? Who came up with that one?"

Neville smiled wanly as he stepped through the opening. "Percy did."

"Ah."

.

* * *

.

He had expected the bombardment of cheers and questions from his housemates. He graciously answered a few of them with as little detail as possible and dismissed himself, citing exhaustion and the whole battling a dark lord business—no big deal for the Boy-Who-Lived naturally. Of course, even in his room he wasn't able to escape entirely.

"Merlin's ghost, you two are alive! We thought you were the ones attacked by the Heir."

"Are you really back to normal, Harry?"

Harry smiled broadly at Dean and Seamus. They were well-intentioned, at least. "As normal as I'll ever be," he replied. "Still, it's awfully dreary in Gryffindor without any red hair around, isn't it? I'm glad this is all over."

They paled. Seamus braved up enough to ask the question. "It wasn't… Ron?"

Harry grimaced. "Yeah. Both him and Percy. Hermione is only petrified, thank goodness. I don't think Ginny will be coming back to Hogwarts tonight, she's in quite a state after she found out what happened to her brothers."

The room stayed mostly quiet after that. There was a Ron-shaped hole that no one could fill.

.

* * *

.

**30 May 1993**

"Wake up sleeping beauty!"

Harry watched as the sleeping brunette fluttered her eyes and looked up into the simultaneously-speaking faces of Fred and George Weasley.

"F-Fred? George? But you're… Merlin, am I dead?"

"Dead? Oh no, you won't be rid of us—"

"Not for a long time!"

He saw her smile faintly at their antics and look around from the comfort of her bed. Surrounding her were Madam Pomfrey and all the friends she'd made in her time at Hogwarts. Her face lit up warmly at the realization that so many had come to see her.

"What happened?"

Harry smiled and grasped her upper arm comfortingly. "Basilisk nearly got you. Fred and George here just woke up a little while ago thanks to Madam Pomfrey's mandrake drought and they're already giving us headaches. How do you feel?"

He watched her wince and stretch a bit. "Sore, but otherwise I feel fine," she said, then her mouth twitched upward a bit. "I suppose I should quit moping and join the wake-up party for Ron."

Suddenly, the eyes that were so focused on her turned away and the smiles began to dim. Harry knew Hermione was not the most socially adept girl at Hogwarts, but even she could detect such obvious signs. "They didn't…"

"Ron and Percy didn't make it," Neville said, voice hoarse. "The basilisk killed them. You got lucky and must have seen its eyes through a reflection of some kind like Fred and George did."

Harry waited for the moment that she would break down into tears, but to his surprise that moment never came. She just took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. "Fred… George… I'm sorry for your loss."

Harry barely stopped his eyebrows from hitting the roof. He knew how attached she was to Ron… especially recently, as he apparently remembered now. That really was getting annoying. Every once in a while he'd get flashes from the previous year when it was relevant to something he saw or said. The sharp headache that accompanied these intermittent memories didn't ingratiate the entire process to him either.

One of the twins—who even cares which—interrupted his contemplations. "We just found out, too. We're trying to find comfort that Ginny is all right, at least."

"Ginny? Was she attacked too?"

The other twin shook his head. "Much worse: she was the attacker. That diary of hers was possessing her and sending the basilisk on the prowl. She's still in a right state about it. I can't imagine knowing that my body was used to… to kill Ron and Percy, y'know?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Yeah…"

**31 May 1993**

Harry rolled his eyes and groaned. He'd just gotten out of a meeting with McGonagall. No, he did not want to be on the Quidditch team, for the thousandth time. Yes, he really would like to take his exams, for the thousandth time—except in History of Magic and Astronomy. He had selective memory loss, more commonly known as "bullshitting", when it came to those two subjects. Quidditch was fun, sure, but it seemed to do nothing but get him halfway near killed.

This meant that he only had to go Charms, Herbology, Transfiguration, and Potions for the little time left in the year. He was still on "special assignment" in Defense Against Dark Arts. The end of year tournament was finally culminating today and he wasn't going to miss it for the world.

As Harry entered the class, Lockhart's voice rang out. "All right students, settle down. As you are aware, this is the final day of the second year DADA dueling tournament. Now," he said, settling in his desk chair with a plate full of treacle tarts and a glass of wine, "let's find out who wins the grand prize of a full letter grade bump. Team A and Team G, take your positions!"

As Lockhart finished his sentence, he waved his wand and the tables parted, allowing for space in the center of the class. The two teams took places ten feet away from each other in the middle of the room, facing each other, wands out. "You know the rules. Brown and Goyle, are you ready?"

Both members of Team A assented.

"Longbottom and Malfoy, are you ready?"

Both members of Team G assented.

Lockhart raised his wineglass to both teams in acknowledgement. "Begin!"

Team A moved first, dashing from their assigned central position toward the outside of the room.

"Don't let them get to the corner! _Stupefy!_"

"I know, Longbottom! _Tarantallegra!_"

Both jinxes met the formidable shield charm of Gregory Goyle, who successfully navigated himself and his partner into the corner of the room. Behind him was Lavender Brown, firing low-level jinxes out from behind his shield.

"How are they doing that!" Neville yelled as he dished out a few more serious jinxes. "She's firing from behind the shield, isn't she?"

"That was their project," Malfoy replied, firing a Reductor Curse. "Somehow the Brown girl figured out how to make a one-way shield."

"So they're just going to huddle until we wear ourselves out?"

"That's what they've been doing this entire tournament, isn't it? Come on, I have an idea!"

Team E spent the next few minutes in a division of labor. Malfoy kept the attention of the duo with the turtling strategy while Longbottom summoned desks and tables as cover. What came next was a stagnant ten minute standoff in which Team A sat patiently while Malfoy and Longbottom took cover and discussed strategy.

"We couldn't stop them from getting to the corner, so what if we turn the advantage against them?"

"You have an idea, Malfoy?"

"Yeah, hit the ceiling with Reductors, see if we can't bring it down on them," he said, gesturing to the spot above their opponents.

"You can't blow up the castle!"

"There's nothing in the rules—"

"No, Malfoy, you literally can't. The castle is protected against spellfire," Neville said, scoffing. "But we _can_ banish objects at the ceiling and let the debris fall on them."

His partner grinned. "That'll work."

Lockhart's voice chimed in. "Any day now, ladies!"

"Fine, let's do it. Go! _Depulso!_"

They barraged the ceiling above Team A with the desks and tables they had assembled and felt a surge of success when Lavender Brown shrieked and pulled her befuddled partner out of the way. "Shield up, shield up!"

Her words came just in time, as several mid-tier curses splashed against Goyle's prodigious Protego. The kid was a few Knuts short of a Sickle, but his shield charm was a wonder of magic. They circled each other warily, Brown ducking in and out of sight from behind Goyle and continuing to pepper the dodging duo with spells.

The rest of the fight was actually pretty boring. The shield charm Goyle could produce was virtually unbreakable for second years and eventually Longbottom was hit with a tripping jinx. He slammed into Malfoy and both were put out of commission with body-binds. After Lockhart declared the match over and performed the countercurse, Malfoy turned to his erstwhile partner.

"Did Brown and Goyle just win the class tournament? And beat us to do it?"

Neville sighed. "Yep."

"Amazing," Malfoy crowed. "Goyle will actually pass."

.

* * *

.

**19 June 1993**

The rest of the semester passed without incident.

Hermione Granger was tap-tap-tapping her feet outside Hogwarts Castle. She was, of course, the first to arrive at the departure point for the jaunt to Hogsmeade Station, where the students would be shipped back to King's Cross like so many bundles of joy. What was irritating her feet to the point of tap-tap-tappiness was the tardiness of one Harry Potter.

He and Neville—who was acting more like a bodyguard than a friend these days, she muttered to herself on occasion—were still inside, collecting things or some nonsense like that. "Everyone else had the sense to be out here on time, so what's so important that they have to hold the rest of us up?"

Had she said that out loud? "Easy Granger, no need to get your knickers in a twist—"

"Or a bind—"

"Or a jimmy—"

"Or a—"

"Hilarious, you can finish each other's sentences."

"It's not like we're leaving for another hour anyway."

Hermione turned to the new voice. "Hey, Neville. Got tired of playing bodyguard for Harry?"

He shrugged, not rising to the barb. "Harry told me he'd be fine. Got the Map anyway in case. What's going on?"

"Idle conversation, that's all. Nothing substantive coming from Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dum here."

"Hey, Miss Know-It-All—"

"I'll have you know we take offense to that. We've been working on some neat stuff since we got unpetrified, for the record. Isn't that right, Forge?"

"For the record indeed, brother Gred."

"If by 'neat stuff' you mean that disgusting Stinksap…"

"Oh, but we do, and we're not the only ones in on this—"

"Isn't that right, Mister Longbottom?"

Hermione looked at him curiously. "You've been helping these two?"

He let out a noise that sounded roughly like a 'meh'. "Harry asked me to. Besides, Herbology is my best subject. We've been getting interesting results with turning plants that use Stinksap into… well, Harry calls them 'mines', that detonate on proximity. We've been altering the properties of the Stinksap too. I think we got the short-term paralysis effect mostly done."

Hermione's face rose in appreciation. "That's very complex work! How did you…?"

Neville smiled. "Turns out that most things that are 'complex' in the Wizarding World just require a bit of effort. Having a terribly lazy culture is finally paying off for the rest of us who actually put the work in."

"Not that we'd like to be mistaken for anything but lazy, mind you."

"Indeed, brother. That would be tragic."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Wonderful. I have no idea how you two had the free time to work on these things with the way Lockhart was this year."

The twins looked between each other and burst out laughing. "Hermione Granger made a joke! It's a miracle!"

She glared them down from their laughing fit. "Who's joking? Lockhart was brutal this year. I barely had any free time after that and all my independent research."

When Neville nodded his assent, the twins went from bemused to incredulous. "You two are nutters. Oi, Ginny, get over here!"

Ginny disengaged from her friend group and sidled over to join them. Harry had made Dumbledore promise not to reveal that she had been possessed and causing the attacks. That decision probably saved her social life at Hogwarts.

"Dear sister, tell these nutcases about how "difficult" DADA was this year."

She snorted. "Lockhart was a joke. We had more tests about his favorite things than we did actual instruction. Not that we had any actual instruction, it was more of a rhetorical… whatever. The man is an absolute ponce."

Now it was Hermione and Neville's turn to be perturbed.

"Maybe he had something out for the second years," Neville said dismissively. "Not that it really matters anymore, I heard he's been fired."

"The second years…" Hermione muttered. "Neville, may I see the Map?"

He produced it from a robe pocket and handed it to her. "_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_." She only peered at it for a moment before, "_Mischief managed! _I'm going back to the castle. I'll be right back!"

With that, she took off at a run. McGonagall, fresh from breaking up a fight between two fourth-year Slytherins and a Gryffindor, called after her.

"Miss Granger! Where do you think you're going?"

"I left something important in the castle, Professor, I'll be right back!"

McGonagall paused to consider this, then smiled a thin smile. "Hurry up then, dear. Train leaves in forty-five minutes."

"I will! Thank you!"

.

* * *

.

Hermione pulled open the door and entered the room she had spied on the Marauder's Map. Inside was the nearly emptied office of Professor Gilderoy Lockhart. Other than a cauldron sitting in the corner and the desk and bookshelves provided, everything had been cleared. The man himself was standing by his personal desk, emptying out a few knick-knacks from the top drawer. She walked over to him and gently placed her hand on his.

"Hello, Professor."

He looked her in the eye. "Miss Granger. Come to say your goodbyes?"

She smiled up at him. "Something like that."

"You know, this would look quite bad if a Professor walked in right now," he said, not removing her hand as he took a seat at his desk chair. "These are _private _quarters, Miss Granger."

"You know, 'Miss Granger' sounds so formal. Hermione is fine," she replied. This was it. She had a hunch that she believed in and she had to take the plunge. "After all, that's what you normally call me… Harry."

He met her eyes again and for a heartrending, suspenseful moment she thought she might have been wrong. Then Lockhart squeezed her hand and chuckled.

"You really are the smartest witch of your generation, aren't you? Took you long enough. Ow!"

She had smacked him on the shoulder. "Prat. How did you do this? _Why _did you do this? What—"

"Easy with the questions Hermione, I'll—"

"Of course! I'm an idiot! It even said in those stupid books that he doesn't drink. You've been using Polyjuice," she exclaimed, not pausing to catch a breath. "Why on earth were you impersonating Professor Lockhart?"

Lockhart sighed and leaned back into his chair. His figure began to contort and shrink, eventually leaving a raven-haired boy with a scar on his forehead and a twinkle in his eye in his place. Harry smiled. "It's a long story. You'd be surprised at what people will say when you think you can't hear them."

Hermione scowled. "So, what, you've been pretending this whole time?"

"No, no," Harry said, clenching her arm placatingly. "I wasn't all there—"

"Of course. I'm an idiot," she whispered again. Don't count on that being her new phrase, though. "Lockhart was your outlet. That's how you were breaking through it all."

Harry unabashedly grinned. "Something like that. It started when Professor Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley were talking about Voldemort early this summer. They said he was going to come back and start another war, a war against Muggleborns and blood traitors. Subconscious-Harry decided he had to start preparing everyone, but he had no idea how. When I, or he, or whatever, saw how much of an idiot Lockhart was, that was the opportunity."

Realization dawned on Hermione as she now paced back and forth across the room. "He wasn't giving you special assignments because you weren't up to task like the rest of the students. You were just taking his place every day."

"You got it. And I—hey, don't touch that! _Depulso_!"

Hermione started as she had nearly touched the cauldron in the corner of the room before it went flying away from her. Why was she reaching out towards it? What was she doing?

"Stay away from the cauldron. I could only steal a little Polyjuice from Snape before he locked down the security on his stores. After that, Lockhart-Harry put a compulsion charm on the cauldron so that every time he got near it he'd start making Polyjuice and a memory charm so he'd forget he did it. Lockhart may be a rat, but he's a rich rat. He could afford the ingredients no problem."

"So you've been doing this all year, every time we have Defense Against Dark Arts?"

Harry laughed lightly and shrugged, deactivating the charms on the cauldron. "Apparently so. Crazy, huh? I didn't know I had it in me."

"There's just one thing. How did we never see you on the Map where Lockhart was supposed to be?"

"That's easy. Who was watching the Map while we were in Lockhart's class?"

"That was the twins," she replied, "we were always too busy in his—your class to keep a good watch on it… and they had no idea where specifically you were supposed to be in that class."

"That's what I figured too," Harry said, going back to reclining in the desk chair. "Lockhart's knocked out and Obliviated in his storage closet. He'll come to in a couple hours."

"You're just going to leave him here?"

"Basically."

Hermione groaned. "Typical," she said. Then she grinned. "Oh, and you owe me _Professor Potter_. This is an awfully big secret to keep without proper compensation."

"Oh, goodness," Harry sighed dramatically. "Who says I can't just use a memory charm and make you forget?"

"Don't even bluff. You'd never do that to your friends"

"You're right. C'mon, let's get down to Hogsmeade Station," Harry said, slinging his arm around her shoulder congenially. "I'm all done here. We don't want to make McGonagall angry."

She reciprocated his motion and they walked back to the station, friends in arms.

.

* * *

.

**Hogwarts Express**

"Send your goons out of here. We need to talk."

Harry watched Malfoy look up at him from his seat. "Fine. Crabbe, Goyle, stand watch. We need to have a little chat. _Muffliato_."

Harry looked at him quizzically. "What was that spell?"

"It'll keep this conversation private. Now talk, Potter, I don't have all day."

"Fine, I'll keep it simple. I want you on my team."

"Your team?" Draco drawled. "Sorry, I'm not transferring to Gryffindor just to play Quidditch with the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Hysterical. Not that, arse. There's a war coming and you damn well know it. I want you on my team."

Now Harry knew he had his attention. "Fine, no pretensions. Who's on _your_ team, Potter?"

"Let me ask you a question. How many sides to this are there right now?"

Draco reclined and tapped his finger to his chin as he mused. "Obviously, there's Fudge and his goons in the Ministry. Then, if the rumors are to be believed—"

"You said no pretensions, Malfoy. You know as well as I do that Voldemort is back and on the move."

Malfoy sniffed. "Fine. There's the Ministry as the status quo. The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters are trying to disrupt that status quo. And of course, Father always says that Dumbledore and his cronies are involved in everything, so I suppose that constitutes a faction to itself. Don't tell me you're aligning yourself with the old man, Potter, or I'll hex you out of this compartment faster than you can blink."

"No, no," Harry chuckled. "Nothing like that. I'm making my own team and we're going to come out of this whole damn mess on top."

"What's in it for me?" Draco asked, perhaps a bit too quickly to seem like he wasn't already aboard. "Why should I side with you instead of the most powerful Light or Dark wizard of the age?"

Harry smiled. "Because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. And I have a plan. Let me ask you something. What did you think of Lockhart's class this year, as a training program?"

Draco paused, tapping his chin again. "Brutal. Effective. Comprehensive. Practical," he remarked, then considered what he'd just said. "I knew that ponce couldn't be responsible for such regimented teaching. You had a hand in that, didn't you Potter?"

"It's possible," he said, smiling, "but more importantly I'm going to need your support. The other three houses are one thing, but you? You're the Prince of Slytherin and a Malfoy. You could own the house if you wanted to."

"And why should a go with you instead of the Dark Lord? You know of the power he offers."

"Power? Maybe. But that's not what the Malfoys are about and you know it. It's not about pure power. It's about being more powerful than everyone else. If Voldemort wins, he's going to kill all the Muggleborns and half-bloods. If all that's left are purebloods, who's going to be left to rule over? It's going to be all-out equality. Can you imagine being equal to Crabbe and Goyle?"

Draco's finger stopped tapping as he mulled that over.

"Seriously Malfoy, imagine a world where the Dark Lord is in charge. The Malfoy family will be forever subservient to another and on equal footing with everyone else. The more half-bloods and Muggleborns there are, the more relative power the Malfoy family has. Killing them off means fewer people to use for your designs."

"You've really though this sales pitch through, haven't you Potter?" Draco asked. "When did you get so bright?"

"As I vaguely remember, you weren't so inspired last year yourself."

"What can I say? I play up to my competition," Draco said, frowning lightly. "You want me to help you? I'm nearly convinced, I'll admit it. But what's to prevent you from turning this thing all around on me once it's all over?"

Harry leaned in close and whispered something in his ear. Draco's eyes went wide with undisguised shock.

"Potter! You can't be serious."

Harry shrugged.

"You know they'll hate you."

"I don't care."

"You know they might not even let you."

"I don't care."

"Merlin, you're serious aren't you?" Draco asked, almost rhetorically. "Fine. I still think you're bloody insane to stand up to the Dark Lord, but I'll let you take the lead as long as it's convenient. Or safe."

"That's all I ask," Harry said. "With any luck, the other three sides will implode and you'll be picking up the pieces. In fact, I have a good feeling that's exactly what will happen. They're pretty evenly matched, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," Draco grumbled. "Now get out of here, before I change my mind."

"Oh, and Malfoy? You know your father isn't getting out of this clean. He was the one responsible for the attacks this year."

Draco's eyes went wide again. "I had my suspicions… damn. You're sure?" Harry nodded. "Damn."

"He killed one of ours, Draco. I can't let that go."

Draco sighed. "I know. But Potter, leave my mother out of this if you want my cooperation. She's not a Death Eater."

"I can't promise anything."

"Potter…" Draco growled.

"I won't go out of my way to hit anyone who isn't fighting against me. That's all I can give you and you know it."

Draco sniffed. "Fine. Now get out."

Harry got up and left the compartment. As he did, he heard Draco muttering to himself.

"I can't believe I'm doing this…"

.

* * *

.

Harry smiled inwardly as he walked back into his compartment. It was filled with his companions—Neville, Hermione, the twins, Ginny—minus one. Ron. Companions was the word he now liked best. Friends is emotionally charged. Friends gets you in trouble. The Companions, Harry learned as a child, were the elite guard of Alexander the Great. They were his acquaintances, but when it came to battle they were willing to sacrifice even their lives to save their king. Harry liked that concept much better.

"Welcome back, mate," the twins chorused.

"Hey guys. _Muffliato_."

"What was that spell, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Privacy spell, just learned it. We need to talk. It's something big."

The other five in the room were suddenly all ears.

"I found out recently that something big is coming. There's a war on the way. All the chaos in Hogwarts this year was like a drop in the bucket compared to what's coming. Voldemort," a shiver from the redheads in the room, "is back and he's going after Muggleborns and blood traitors. He'll stop at nothing until all of us are dead. In fact, he's already started with that."

"Ron," Hermione breathily whispered.

"Yes. What happened to Ron and Percy wasn't some random tragedy. It was the first step in what will be an all-out war. The battlefield is everywhere. Hogwarts, the Ministry, hell, even your homes are potential targets. We could be attacked, right here, right now, and who would stop it? There are no professors on the Hogwarts Express, no Ministry officials, no trained fighters. How prepared are we, really?"

There was silence.

"We have two choices. One, we can avoid the fight. We can run from it, flee the war, flee the country—even cross the pond and go to the States. That won't work. Sooner or later, Voldemort and his goons will find you and kill you, just because of who you are. Or two, you can stand up and fight. You can go all out, prepare yourselves for the fight of your lives, and kick their asses back to the stone age."

Harry sighed and took a deep breath.

"I'm not telling you that you have to do this, but I don't see any other option. Alone we don't stand a chance, but together? Together, we can do this. Together, we can win. Together, we can get these bastards back for Ron."

There was more quiet, for nearly a minute. The twins were the first to speak.

"Mate, you already know our answer."

"We're with you every step of the way."

"Neville?"

"I was going to be doing this anyway, whether you were or not."

"That's what I figured. Hermione."

She bit her bottom lip nervously. "This is a big decision, Harry. You're talking about becoming soldiers. Fighting, killing people."

"Do we have another choice?"

She sighed, bowing her head, and a single tear fell down her face. "No. Let's do it."

"Ginny?"

"I'm never letting them touch me again. I'll kill them with my bare hands if I have to."

"Gin!"

"Merlin, sis, you're ruddy scary, you know that?"

She glared at them. "You would be too if a dark lord had been messing with your head."

Harry chuckled. "I'm glad to hear that—here, Ginny, you can draw pretty well, copy this with more detail would you—because I've already made a move," he said, grinning, "in all of our names."

"Harry," Hermione said with a worried look on her face, "you didn't do anything drastic, did you?"

Harry snorted. "Of course I did."

"Don't be coy," Neville said. "What did you do?"

"Well, it's a funny story. Malfoy Senior was so upset after being kicked out of Hogwarts that he gave one of his elves clothes. Turns out this elf has a huge crush on the Boy-Who-Lived," Harry said, pointing to himself with his thumb. "And Malfoy neglected to key him out of the wards."

"Harry…" Hermione said, voice starting to quaver.

"And it just so happens that a new friend of mine had the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack that she was more than happy to lend me."

There was a pause.

"A _what_?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"I think I've heard of that before…" Ginny murmured.

"So, being the generous person that I am, I sent Malfoy a present."

.

* * *

.

Lucius Malfoy was still stewing. The death of two students on his watch had not only gotten him kicked out of the Hogwarts Headmaster position, but also from the Board of Governors itself. It wasn't his fault that the Weasley girl was too stupid to keep proper track of that diary.

He walked downstairs into his parlor and saw a sizable box with a simple removable top lying on an end table. On the top was a symbol. Six hands up to the wrist positioned in a circular fashion at the 12, 2:30, 4:30, 6, 8:30, and 10:30 positions. All six hands held wands pointed toward the center, where all the wandpoints touched.

"What's this?"

His Death Eater senses kicked in. He waved his wand over the object and detected no unstable magic on the outside. After this initial step, he tapped the box for several more minutes checking for all sorts of magic, dark and otherwise. He detected no spells. Satisfied, he lifted the top of the box. The thing he saw first was a piece of paper with a simple message on it.

**A parting shot from the Gang of Six**

That was all he had time to process. You see, when Malfoy lifted the box, he triggered the very Muggle quarter-second fuse that was connected to what the piece of paper sat on: an Erumpent horn.

The fuse reached the horn.

The explosion rocked Malfoy Manor.

.

* * *

.

"It's official," Harry said, clapping his hands together once in a gesture of finality. "The Gang of Six is on the move."


End file.
